tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13078431645879154352024-03-10T01:29:13.351+00:00Garageland ReviewsAn Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-31985800949165385202024-03-02T08:39:00.003+00:002024-03-02T08:39:57.013+00:00Westminster Coastal<p><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;">Jennifer Caroline Campbell talks to Luke Burton about his 'seriously playful' show</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;">Westminster Coastal</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;">at Bosse & Baum Gallery in Peckham, London.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background: white; font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxYDFq4IW2BgnIdp0nILLDmnRrdXRSg-oOLmDifoK7QjiVd8qtFv9t_DzsK0Jqx-9NacVD5TDMnXhrG3gi3TobMrOV_AtcxonlYtgZml1zlOFwdfdGiEnQAR_Z6jIxfMcmdNeIdIYAdhcyy9wXUOnXEP3omBsk_2q7rPTZSkBo5Fe_xFoolc1DB3NW_qW/s1400/_DSC7691LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxYDFq4IW2BgnIdp0nILLDmnRrdXRSg-oOLmDifoK7QjiVd8qtFv9t_DzsK0Jqx-9NacVD5TDMnXhrG3gi3TobMrOV_AtcxonlYtgZml1zlOFwdfdGiEnQAR_Z6jIxfMcmdNeIdIYAdhcyy9wXUOnXEP3omBsk_2q7rPTZSkBo5Fe_xFoolc1DB3NW_qW/w640-h426/_DSC7691LR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background: white; font-family: Helvetica;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background: white; font-family: Helvetica;"><b>Jennifer Caroline Campbell</b>: Exploring your installation has a slight feeling of trespassing. It makes me think of some kind of normcore / gammon version of Kafka, and maybe Terry Gilliam’s film <i>Brazil</i>. Like opening a door in a corridor, that you aren’t really allowed to open, on the way the toilet perhaps, unexpectedly finding it unlocked, and daring yourself to have a nosey. Did you feel like a trespasser (/sneak/imposter) when you were living in Westminster? Did you feel inside of, or outside of, the political machine?</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b>Luke Burton</b>: I have lived in the borough of Westminster for three years, just a stone's throw away from the Home Office building on Marsham St depicted in one of my large paintings, in an Edwin Lutyens estate owned by the council, though many if not the majority of the flats in the estate are privately owned now. So the 'political machine' - the historical conditions for my housing, the current architecture of the Civil Service and Whitehall, along with their workers, are all very much in my everyday experience of living there. That said, I very much feel like an observer rather than an actor in this context, apart from when I am part of a protest or rally perhaps. I think your question about trespassing is interesting because it speaks to the feeling that so many people in London have of not feeling as though they have the means, and therefore the right, to live in the city. There are myriad political and economic reasons for this of course but this idea that you can be a trespasser in your own home, that you can have both the feeling of intimacy and comfort while at the same time an overriding knowledge of your own contingency and precarity is very real. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmex8QCvZ9ROth9858MyG65IbGAk5T4G0y9GgL4u17AnLJxfYoA2LWjhNmf6-cv6jwQtI4JGg5DRJjNzMBrSQUA3KoZ6dU6WQ99TxJFLKtj8HIEqgRMp1yjK3eRt2PkkuqKazHXHra_hKTudXlNhtyqn3Y9xl1mX84j_MaaPCIlnVPe8DSg4cbzEtPXWpQ/s1400/_DSC7726LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmex8QCvZ9ROth9858MyG65IbGAk5T4G0y9GgL4u17AnLJxfYoA2LWjhNmf6-cv6jwQtI4JGg5DRJjNzMBrSQUA3KoZ6dU6WQ99TxJFLKtj8HIEqgRMp1yjK3eRt2PkkuqKazHXHra_hKTudXlNhtyqn3Y9xl1mX84j_MaaPCIlnVPe8DSg4cbzEtPXWpQ/w640-h426/_DSC7726LR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> And going back to the exhibition and installation, I wanted to suggest a space that felt both theatrical and hyper-formalised – decorative even – but also on first pass, a space that could have the whiff of authenticity. So, people might take a minute to figure out the dynamics of the space, somewhere between a crime scene, a civic office, an archaeological dig, and a gallery space. I wasn't that interested in sustaining any one of these illusions but rather having an awkward synthesis of these different kinds of spaces, with them becoming dialled up or down as you processed the various elements of the exhibition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background: white; font-family: Helvetica;"><b>JCC</b>: That's such a great point about the trespasser-feeling connecting to the normalised precarious modes of living in this city. It makes me think about a book that I just read called <i>Replace Me</i> by Amber Husain. I'm now thinking about the disposable mass-produced elements in the show, especially the junk food packets and the way you have adorned them, or perhaps crystallised them, with your vitreous enamels. The whole installation, but perhaps particularly this choice, to add precious surfaces onto cheap discarded packaging, is seriously playful. As in, it feels like you are inviting us into your pretend-game, and this pretend-game is full of winks and a kind of childish mischief, yet at the same time it is deadly serious. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> I think many artists now are struggling to find ways that their practice can respond to the weight of global, political, and ethical concerns. It is a fine line to walk, and easy to get wrong, yet it feels urgent to connect with these contexts though the language of our practices. I am inspired by the way you have managed this in <i>Westminster Coastal</i>. The work is an engaging and a rich development of your ongoing practice, and it is quite blunt in some ways, yet it avoids the pitfalls of becoming too didactic or illustrative. How did 'process-led' and 'idea-led' approaches play out for you in the run-up to this exhibition?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSJJ7dozlppZcrTcvQ7oeLMlu4miYOqlWvM3qSUvYzFTCxU4Yn6XN8xmYQi77ITUmuD4N-JIqTwylMjeY8m0ZvMXkLDwYsDUeyvj6cXTjPkLC8KBOhgcSHl3GNIRHSuRTcs1atzCacQ0PfFsIJghaz6xIr9wSiULntW0faX-yB3qrz6ivXpBJNRKfwnQZO/s1400/_DSC7721LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSJJ7dozlppZcrTcvQ7oeLMlu4miYOqlWvM3qSUvYzFTCxU4Yn6XN8xmYQi77ITUmuD4N-JIqTwylMjeY8m0ZvMXkLDwYsDUeyvj6cXTjPkLC8KBOhgcSHl3GNIRHSuRTcs1atzCacQ0PfFsIJghaz6xIr9wSiULntW0faX-yB3qrz6ivXpBJNRKfwnQZO/w640-h426/_DSC7721LR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b>LB</b>: That is a very generous analysis of the work. I'm glad you used the term 'seriously playful' which conjures up an ongoing attitude I take with work (as so many artists do I would contest). In my mind it is also associated with the German Romantic Schiller's idea of 'Spiel' – a very serious kind of play which describes the complex conditions of making art. And you only have to look at very young children's faces to see that play is an incredibly serious activity! Something about delight and total, sincere immersion in an activity. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> I often see the vitreous enamels like counters in a game, the rules of which I paradoxically invent but somehow don't know. They present so many 'problems' of presentation too because their scale elicits so many possibilities. I have used them in boxes, on shelves, on the wall, within architectural niches and in clusters or singularly. I'm either resigned to their modularity and variability being a condition of showing them or resigned to my own indecisiveness! I was just having a conversation today with the critic Sacha Craddock where we both felt the way they sit within the scenography of the installation allows them to exist without too much discomfort alongside the paintings. In recent exhibitions I have been amused by the awkwardness of these two media being shown together. It's hard to describe but they often feel like odd bedfellows...the enamels being related to miniature paintings or jewels and therefore somehow too close and not contrasting enough. But by having the enamels on a horizontal plane and embedding them within the 'architecture' of the Twiglet plinths or office furniture or indeed encrusted on to three-dimensional objects, their inherently sculptural qualities are privileged, and they suddenly sit in contradistinction with the paintings in a productive way. I mean, they are still quite bonkers, but something feels resolved in their display which allows you to rest with the different elements of the exhibition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBL-b815KASI2hkxsfkDNFOwo8fTOe0Kxq6OwO9T8ArS5ZqOIuwGmo0swgr8YB7VldXJfQfQ6CVY77eTF4-zm9-UeasEbL0_-oKVdDc1HryCKf-9y9I-1TonkOd9y2QBZXxvFJ8drKAq6n297D5Bj7s3WVeI9Xa1szYSuqCisKiBYTPTGAYRzKUEZFHSQ7/s1400/_DSC7698LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBL-b815KASI2hkxsfkDNFOwo8fTOe0Kxq6OwO9T8ArS5ZqOIuwGmo0swgr8YB7VldXJfQfQ6CVY77eTF4-zm9-UeasEbL0_-oKVdDc1HryCKf-9y9I-1TonkOd9y2QBZXxvFJ8drKAq6n297D5Bj7s3WVeI9Xa1szYSuqCisKiBYTPTGAYRzKUEZFHSQ7/w640-h426/_DSC7698LR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> I really relate to the struggle of responding (or not) with so many incredibly complex global, ethical and political concerns. I think this show is as much a response to particular questions around these issues such as state violence both home and abroad as it is to the wider (im)possibility of responding at all. I have thought a lot about a spectrum of directness and indirectness that the work plays with in relation to the complex political landscape. Civil servants were a kind of sweet spot of both being fundamental to the machine of government whilst simultaneously being anonymised and culturally opaque - a kind of faceless bureaucracy. This contradiction really interested me and so they became a kind of keystone in terms of this tightrope of directness without wishing to be didactic. A lot of the other material and conceptual choices followed on once I had found the civil servants. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> In terms of process-led or ideas-led dynamic of the practice. I find it impossible to distinguish between the two. Sometimes ideas seem to crystallize out of 'nowhere' but they always feel like they are a solution to a problem I never knew I had. There is often a psychoanalytic dimension to these moments on reflection. And sometimes material contingencies in the studio show me the way with a kind of clarity that borders on contempt! But most of the time it really feels utterly synthesised and just a kind of ugly-beautiful cat-and-mouse game. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b>JCC</b>: The toughness and weight of the enamels seem more present in this installation than in previous incarnations that I have seen. I can imagine them clinking down onto the glass, pressing down on the flimsy food wrappers and ripping them, cracking the twiglets. You have really activated their materiality. But equally, they are also still handmade pictures. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> I read some of the enamels as shards of picture, as if they grew like crystals from within the painting’s depicted space and ended up being shed into our ‘real’ space. Perhaps they were generated within the oversized chandelier droplets that feature in some of the paintings. These multifaceted droplets feel like monstrous opulent glitches that have grown out of a slow-motion absurd snowball effect, perhaps originating in a slight misalignment in the mechanism of Westminster. Maybe they embody the interpersonal violence of the day to day of politics somehow? Could you tell me how you found this particular motif? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8njv7QCMUCYxX3BO4kDtfl5ul3OfkzIdtGgBKrERwpSEK0EtV4nj6VYgq_0XXPdJVCp8JTdROua3uUB1a8gUKMAmehpB6uOGQbNOAqOxmn7PNnCPjD0C410VwXdy9ob3mSdbNBsvAtX3k2U-1_JUDLnqBxjYNm5F_w76835PiPHdyApLXS17P7OK0fDcg/s1400/_DSC7742LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8njv7QCMUCYxX3BO4kDtfl5ul3OfkzIdtGgBKrERwpSEK0EtV4nj6VYgq_0XXPdJVCp8JTdROua3uUB1a8gUKMAmehpB6uOGQbNOAqOxmn7PNnCPjD0C410VwXdy9ob3mSdbNBsvAtX3k2U-1_JUDLnqBxjYNm5F_w76835PiPHdyApLXS17P7OK0fDcg/w640-h426/_DSC7742LR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b>LB</b>: I agree the enamels have much more weight to them than previously. This is partly a technical thing of having layers of added copper cut-out sections on top of the first layer of enamel, which are then enamelled themselves. There are also a lot of embedded copper wires which is my crude version of cloisonné, an ancient technique of separating space for different sections through cellular structures using wire. So there's a bit more going on with the surface of these works than before. And then there is the material thinness of the crisp and chocolate wrapper foil which produces this contrast. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> You are right there are echoes of the enamels in the large chandelier droplets. Their lozenge forms for one thing. Also, their material, both being made from glass. But they are also oddly contrasting as one is an imperfect representation of a perfect symmetrical crystal and the enamels are extremely asymmetrical, wonky but hopefully formally just-so. I have always wanted to have this interplay between the enamels in the paintings but have struggled to figure out how much to dial up their reflections...I like that you see the chandelier droplets as monstrous because I have been thinking a lot about Mannerist and Baroque art and the many examples of heavily distorted and amplified forms. The monstrous and the decorative being entwined with the idea of the 'misshapen pearl' of the Baroque - this twinning of violence and decoration being a red thread through the show. The droplets, in the process of painting, also turned into grenades or dropping bombs but that was so horrendously on the nose it had to happen in the unconscious rather than by design. It's too blunt for me though I didn't change it once I saw it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> I came to these forms partly because I have always wanted to paint chandeliers and chandelier droplets because of the repeated lozenge forms. And paint them lovingly and loosely. I have a great painter friend Allan Rand who once said the pleasure of painting a grid loosely was enough of an excuse for a painting. I think all artists have these fairly simple drives based on something physical, like a hunch that there will be enjoyment in the process and that's enough. But I had the idea way back in 2016 on a residency in Baku, Azerbaijan, where there were loads of chandelier shops to provide interior decorations for all the newly built mansions popping up. Neo-classicism was as much the rage as hyper-capitalist glass towers, but I made a series of failed attempts at the time and abandoned the idea until now. I was thinking a lot about the very august spaces of Whitehall and how in reality much of government space is modern, very corporate and functional. So this contrast of opulent classicism and aesthetic conservatism running next to the expediency and pragmatism of the office interested me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHN_FFJUiT7sX62Gcge-wvkHx480-89qvdrNlky548OFM-xyZlPHY7lnszEJQIQjq6hBeUtC5yho6pl1RYOKj7eLeM6FbofbrtQKOYOX5vaJgSDb4qQUbxs-zX4BbjMstqKqmT3zN6YUytpgSIAcbaIqCIN5dige1mvF7Czg1PZfs4yC1TI45MSYZNrQeK/s1400/_DSC7723LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHN_FFJUiT7sX62Gcge-wvkHx480-89qvdrNlky548OFM-xyZlPHY7lnszEJQIQjq6hBeUtC5yho6pl1RYOKj7eLeM6FbofbrtQKOYOX5vaJgSDb4qQUbxs-zX4BbjMstqKqmT3zN6YUytpgSIAcbaIqCIN5dige1mvF7Czg1PZfs4yC1TI45MSYZNrQeK/w640-h426/_DSC7723LR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b>JC</b>: <span style="background: white;">Final question: what is your relationship to monster munch?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background: white; font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b>LB</b>: Haha, best question ever. I love Pickled Onion. And Beef flavour. But also they are wild little things. Monster hands and feet. The monster with its mouth open wide on the front of the packet depicts a kind of species-on-species cannibalism. Or are the snacks supposed to be human hands? I think I was quite restrained with my use of them in the show as they could derail things by virtue of being too silly. But I kept them in because I liked their connection to our previous themes of the monstrous - aesthetic histories and political figures and the monsters we all make of others for political convenience. But also, they are stupid damn things - comic and visual shorthand. Another kind of visual style to play with. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBElBztcih__gtXxtLvDj99CWlM1y-U1uejF3b2Zg1gAq99hm-18pU40L0Z_QySLTdYeaVNx0eWJz-YbFGA-f9zVrZUIbk6OaNB_TUH-2sV-v0dCkRSJE0T1-KPfKj0nXrLCpjAQmT6tdIw9zxodsoVRnB8xcT_tuyF58ML51olExII_764t974NYfrmHX/s1400/_DSC7704LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBElBztcih__gtXxtLvDj99CWlM1y-U1uejF3b2Zg1gAq99hm-18pU40L0Z_QySLTdYeaVNx0eWJz-YbFGA-f9zVrZUIbk6OaNB_TUH-2sV-v0dCkRSJE0T1-KPfKj0nXrLCpjAQmT6tdIw9zxodsoVRnB8xcT_tuyF58ML51olExII_764t974NYfrmHX/w640-h426/_DSC7704LR.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Luke Burton, <i>Westminster Coastal</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">8 February – 2 March 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Bosse & Baum, London</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #073763; font-family: Helvetica;"><i>Listen to Luke Burton in conversation with Jennifer Caroline Campbell and Cathy Lomax in <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/garageland-salon/id1689876691">Episode 5</a> of the Garageland Salon podcast</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); color: #666666; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-80178990162850752202023-10-23T14:33:00.033+01:002023-10-23T16:16:22.475+01:00Synchromy with R.B.Kitaj<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0.5pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Kitaj’s paintings and drawings may be strange and provocative, but they are always engaged, as Michael Ajerman finds at a new show in London. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 0.5pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px; text-indent: 0cm;">After almost a decade a new R.B. Kitaj exhibition rises to the surface in London. C</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0cm;">overing over 50 years of art-making, this show at </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0cm;">Piano Nobile is split over the gallery’s two individual large-scale spaces, divided by a brisk walk across the street. This helps organise things tremendously well. Here we have Kitaj before 1980, and after.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.120001px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">The show begins with Kitaj’s diptych of Francis Bacon peering at you through the diamond shaped glazing of the gallery’s door. <i>Synchromy with F.B.- General of Hot Desire </i>is<i> </i>Kitaj’s<i> </i>homage to his hero of bodily depictions and British (Irish) painting. Many of Kitaj’s Royal College classmates, and countless others for decades, would be inspired by Bacon. It is a painting that celebrates all of the many strengths of Kitaj’s 1960s pictures. The strange</span><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">gallivanting </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">modernist architecture used in these paintings enables him to bring a monumental feeling of space and possibility. A playset, and arena, he fills with his people, places, and ideas, realised with flat stumbled brushwork and saturated colour.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphen-smi3LafYHIxalUd-PVuqEWXp9bkCWEo-BFpuy4aNAQ63JglQYSpdwUEVDKASknTcpFSjRXg9BtHTfDaAEmaPuCLGd929xbHJjouR7CJOgiMaLpleJlNKLEvai22O7YqDCCFoyfuGeUGia0fGeXTIKQSP9y2jUcnx8UB8Cg0ZpFEtVv5Vjn1iMq1q7A/s2478/R.B.%20Kitaj,%20Synchromy%20with%20F.B.%20-%20General%20of%20hot%20desire%20(framed).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2006" data-original-width="2478" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphen-smi3LafYHIxalUd-PVuqEWXp9bkCWEo-BFpuy4aNAQ63JglQYSpdwUEVDKASknTcpFSjRXg9BtHTfDaAEmaPuCLGd929xbHJjouR7CJOgiMaLpleJlNKLEvai22O7YqDCCFoyfuGeUGia0fGeXTIKQSP9y2jUcnx8UB8Cg0ZpFEtVv5Vjn1iMq1q7A/w640-h518/R.B.%20Kitaj,%20Synchromy%20with%20F.B.%20-%20General%20of%20hot%20desire%20(framed).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">R.B. Kitaj, <i>Synchromy with F.B. - General of hot desire</i> </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">On the left we are given Bacon looking more like WC Fields in an odd outfit that screams new money and the bad fashion choices that come with it. To the side we are given a female nude fractured into pieces, possibly Henrietta Moraes, Bacon’s friend and muse who inspired his body paintings of the time. She seems like a sphinx with a stiff rendered face, adorned with a </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">single Michelangelo-esque female breast dipped in florescent colour, while her inner thighs and genitalia, with pubic hair, seems to reference both Courbet’s best and photographic erotica. The figures have been transplanted into an Orient Express train carriage as a bright European countryside flies by. All the while white hands, that strangely seem anything but threatening, grab for her throat.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.120001px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">The right-hand panel feels more like the real Bacon, a bit more intense in profile, his hidden muscular strength suggested by plump forearms exposed by a rolled-up shirt sleeve. Kitaj gives him green and yellow, comic book, x-ray vision, his superpower allows him to look through men, women, animals, and hubris. It is a solid vision of an artist who is busy seeing, thinking and dissecting everything, all at once.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.120001px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">Downstairs explores the many approaches to drawing that became Kitaj’s passion in the 1970s. He was no longer painstakingly making charcoal drawings onto canvas that would later be obliterated in colour for completed paintings. Drawing was now to stand on its own, working with a combination of charcoal and pastel on his porridge paper. Think of a rough yellow watercolour paper and imagine it crossed with elephant hide.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGi_uIrtkaNybSZ3xpV15RNPAJ1wX24V-I8N_4aRdv6RaHD0UI5-J9JKw7gKpEzF2jTShw9EOGqFmsXneEknyigKi6TjjyQvMibFJPJS7YhSEBx0zZlskSkRDMMV8JO2ZE5hlqn6Sl80ZtCOtXdTSX9fjoezlF7zqNqEgxu9pF5Z7YUXLyakTKb7GTJCw5/s1034/Marynka%20on%20Her%20Stomach.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1034" data-original-width="756" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGi_uIrtkaNybSZ3xpV15RNPAJ1wX24V-I8N_4aRdv6RaHD0UI5-J9JKw7gKpEzF2jTShw9EOGqFmsXneEknyigKi6TjjyQvMibFJPJS7YhSEBx0zZlskSkRDMMV8JO2ZE5hlqn6Sl80ZtCOtXdTSX9fjoezlF7zqNqEgxu9pF5Z7YUXLyakTKb7GTJCw5/w293-h400/Marynka%20on%20Her%20Stomach.png" width="293" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">R. B. Kitaj, <i>Marynka on Her Stomach</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">Comparing the Fauve nude in <i>Synchromy </i>to <i>Marynka on Her Stomach</i> is an important matter. The diptych nude seems derived from photography creating a chilled separation. In contrast there is a quietness and a deep responsibility felt when looking at Marynka<i> </i>posing on a day bed. She appears confident to show her body, in full, from behind, nothing is made up here. Everything from the cushion embroidery up the inner thighs is rendered slowly. However, from the waist up the figure seems less defined, possibly to give the sensation of the figure moving through space on an awkward diagonal. There is nothing of art school life-rooms here, instead it is more about the working and trust of artist and model – decisions made between them in private.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.120001px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">Dominie (Dartmouth),</span></i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"> seen in the flesh after so many years only in reproduction, does not disappoint. Kitaj’s three quarters profile of his daughter in her teen years captures an essence of her – his determination to catch the emotions and energies in her head is palpable. The upturned arm holds echoes of the mechanics of Balthus’ tonal Italian figure drawings, while the level of focus on the head and hair is touching, skilful, and the artist’s own. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhowreXUrvFCopeHriAn4BRO9sBY7RlkVtJceh5obALHKRbeok2lkioPE2S3ZAgM5T2cFu9Uinhmszg1eSGUtoXXqJqkwpsoqizkr3zc94iWA_i-Id0E4tiPv1pX5TaMK-FNmu25E9s0BGEFs_M967R4kGrrGwSC6dSnXDcsjruuUQNRCy12g8DGky7Ipqt/s5265/R.%20B.%20Kitaj,%20Dominie%20(Dartmouth).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5265" data-original-width="3696" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhowreXUrvFCopeHriAn4BRO9sBY7RlkVtJceh5obALHKRbeok2lkioPE2S3ZAgM5T2cFu9Uinhmszg1eSGUtoXXqJqkwpsoqizkr3zc94iWA_i-Id0E4tiPv1pX5TaMK-FNmu25E9s0BGEFs_M967R4kGrrGwSC6dSnXDcsjruuUQNRCy12g8DGky7Ipqt/w281-h400/R.%20B.%20Kitaj,%20Dominie%20(Dartmouth).jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">R. B. Kitaj, <i>Dominie (Dartmouth)</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">In the second space coming in at around seven feet by twelve inches is the painting, <i>The Gentile Conductor.</i>This is the sister piece to the absent <i>The Jewish Rider</i>, a large painting starring writer Michael Padro as a worn passenger traveling through a beautiful countryside to visit the Death Camps after the war. With <i>The Gentile Conductor</i> we are given the spin off series. This painting, tall as a professional basketball player, looks sinister, yet because of its extreme slenderness, goofy. The conductor’s hat is too small for his head and fits clumsily, while his arms gesture to the side, giving the impression of being preoccupied in another train carriage. In the movie in one’s mind, the painting’s dual points of view allow us to imagine the scar faced creep in the distance, while the red velvet carriage walkway leads directly to our own feet. Kitaj puts us there, making us wonder if we have our ticket and documents deep in our pockets for inspection, or if we need to hide in the toilets to avoid the conductor for a stop or two.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkA30Fug3LS45GFKpApUGeeVBmTJaNS7OLOkUP2hE_3NTE3CvnWXHdGhSyXmVtuM93k5e0JMF93xdzMeoihJ9NXso0MZbnlJdEK0O2wp0nyitD8bhIEVdgX9zHtUu8dcx3cp2fIBlACE_2cIhNNB8vyKnkZMSMB0bDw5HAHdOL_3R38hr_Go43PgkNRV2O/s14919/R.B.%20Kitaj,%20The%20Gentile%20Conductor,%201984-85_2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="14919" data-original-width="10000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkA30Fug3LS45GFKpApUGeeVBmTJaNS7OLOkUP2hE_3NTE3CvnWXHdGhSyXmVtuM93k5e0JMF93xdzMeoihJ9NXso0MZbnlJdEK0O2wp0nyitD8bhIEVdgX9zHtUu8dcx3cp2fIBlACE_2cIhNNB8vyKnkZMSMB0bDw5HAHdOL_3R38hr_Go43PgkNRV2O/w268-h400/R.B.%20Kitaj,%20The%20Gentile%20Conductor,%201984-85_2.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span face="-webkit-standard">R.B. Kitaj, </span><i style="font-family: -webkit-standard;">The Gentile Conductor</i><span face="-webkit-standard">, 1984-85<br /></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">From the 1970s on one of Kitaj’s many obsessions was ‘his Jews’. In the following decade he declared in writing that his individual Jewish diaspora art was not a movement, but rather his own club, with a membership of one. If that Groucho Marx joke is now ringing in your head, you get a gold ribbon. Furthermore, he was adamant in wanting to see a Palestinian diaspora art flourish, just as he supported the blossoming of Black American and queer art.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.120001px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">History has once again returned to the deep and tangled question of the Middle East with the events that have come to a head this October in Israel and Palestine. The impossible-not-to-watch television tirelessly presents interviewees avoiding questions in order to promote their own agenda. It is endless, and I along with many others, fear what is to come. Kitaj’s late painting,<i> Arabs and Jews (After Ensor) </i>(not in the show), has been on the back of my eyelids, I wish it would leave and it won’t. Of this painting Kitaj wrote: ‘This is my third painting called <i>Arabs and Jews</i>, a fight I expect will never end. This picture is based on Ensor’s painting <i>The Fight.</i> You may choose which is Arab and which is Jew.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsd8HLiPE_6eQGtycHr2MG-3t1Fd5phuTsNY3TzOH6eixoVvxSUfOimRd8EByyQNvKVZcXM-bOCWBhb0I6VCHNrduTWyE86nz294AAxz8AJCU27qO5dwBO_gs0k7QPMfLYPChW19Ym5Ana7d_5RvHt_p4qQnYvuYHmnYOzhxDsi-Yfow7qWoQAIaR2DSkV/s849/RBK.Arabs%20&%20Jews.3.TE_45_179_0_17cm.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="840" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsd8HLiPE_6eQGtycHr2MG-3t1Fd5phuTsNY3TzOH6eixoVvxSUfOimRd8EByyQNvKVZcXM-bOCWBhb0I6VCHNrduTWyE86nz294AAxz8AJCU27qO5dwBO_gs0k7QPMfLYPChW19Ym5Ana7d_5RvHt_p4qQnYvuYHmnYOzhxDsi-Yfow7qWoQAIaR2DSkV/w396-h400/RBK.Arabs%20&%20Jews.3.TE_45_179_0_17cm.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">R. B. Kitaj, <i>Arabs and Jews (After Ensor) </i>[not in show]</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">We bring ourselves, our history, our light and dark, to life and to viewing art. We decide who is who in this painting. Are both figures on the brink of blind rage? Who is the culprit, who is being attacked, who is in self-defence? This is a painting that is needed now more than ever – not for our own propaganda but for us to contemplate why we think the way we do. Kitaj had an unwavering belief in the two-state solution in the Middle East, something to be achieved by talking on both sides, with debate, understanding, and some well needed humour as a cushion. Let’s hope he was dead wrong about it being a fight that will never end.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0cm 453.75pt 0.15pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 17.120001px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">Was Kitaj the most controversial easel painter? I don’t know and personally, I don’t care. We need his artwork more than ever – the hits and the misses. This exhibition holds true gems deep from the ocean. The show is on until early next year. The Central Line is the quickest way. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">Michael Ajerman</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24.639999px;">October 2023</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;">R.B Kitaj: London to Los Angeles </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;">25 October 2023 – 26 January 2024 </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22.586668px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;">Piano Nobile Gallery, London</span></p><br /><br />An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-88680507446234263812023-10-17T23:30:00.003+01:002023-10-17T23:32:06.563+01:00Matthias Groebel at DREI, Frieze London 2023 <p><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">You can almost hear the static</span></i></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 2.1pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;">The surfaces of Matthias Groebel's (b. 1958, Aachen, Germany) paintings are ultra flat, stuttering. Depicting close-up mugshots, corralled from quotidian television programmes from the late 1980s and 90s, the portrait paintings included on DREI’s Frieze London booth are strangely resonant. Picturing their protagonists in the moments before impending action, here, wide-eye facial expressions twist and contort, bruised coloured, conveying in their stiltedness something of the non-diegetic sounds used in the cinematographic industry to give shock and suspense a shallow sheen of seductiveness.</span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 2.1pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 2.1pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 2.1pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIdgRBuFqZceMIj0BWcT9xxhB6oiaDWvTRIMVzeuz9XQwEOCk80XAuybIMbLWN79tlkHWg6EaI_jtMTJz8l55dNnQ584rH0m74RH8cOfX3b8oWvSouCNMYybQ2Eu-1BoOXdCfa6Wh4sbvpv3EAoQhaJtuMNI6_xrCo5gq8MbhBFpzKOHJZ-XlcKMqj1HL/s1400/download%20(5).jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIdgRBuFqZceMIj0BWcT9xxhB6oiaDWvTRIMVzeuz9XQwEOCk80XAuybIMbLWN79tlkHWg6EaI_jtMTJz8l55dNnQ584rH0m74RH8cOfX3b8oWvSouCNMYybQ2Eu-1BoOXdCfa6Wh4sbvpv3EAoQhaJtuMNI6_xrCo5gq8MbhBFpzKOHJZ-XlcKMqj1HL/w640-h426/download%20(5).jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Matthias Groebel, works from <i>Broadcast Paintings</i> series, installed at Frieze London 2023</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 2.1pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><br /></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 14.55pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Coming from Groebel’s wider series of <i>Broadcast Paintings </i>(painted between 1989 and 2001), these faces each have a somewhat sun-bleached tone, one that casts their protagonists in a nostalgic light—or at least a soft-grain light I associate with the low-resolution screening technologies of the late 20th-century. This is not to say that Groebel’s works are sentimental or dewy. With their dulled, blotchy skin the faces pictured shine out from their mat material body (acrylic on canvas), radiating with a cold heat. In a counterintuitive way, to me, this aesthetic quality echoes something of the perceptive feel found in Dan Flavin’s neon works. That is, to me they accentuate a sense of alienation found in mass-media technologies and the numb ring of the entertainment industry. (With a focus on the maximisation of pathos, the spectacular way these industries export emotion ultimately renders their subject—perhaps wider social life—debased of actual human feel; in this type of cinematographic staging red-hot rage or cool-blue thinking, becomes nothing more than tepid corner lighting.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 14.55pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Groebel’s painting process riffs on this aesthetic debasement of human emotion. Indeed, his works riff and re-screen the shallow scripting of human emotion, turning these spectacular snapshots outwards through a process of tactical machine-aided painting. Inspired by the newly available technologies of the 80s, specifically the technologies that allowed analogue images to be transferred into computer pixels, Groebel sought to push this process of transference one step further by creating a machine which allowed him to ‘paint’ these pixilated images directly onto canvas. Constructed from found photocopiers and windshield-wiper motors, this painting machine is what gives Groebel’s protagonists their sense of stuttering strangeness. Like an old-school printer, this machine can only paint with one colour at a time, meaning that the final painted images have a bleedy fuzz feel — their soft grain bruisedness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 14.55pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 14.55pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkUzeBru3QlewWKL-shnDt9E597d1IChnYxnAQ2HZ8LMd_HdGEWPsS7QMdlYbSMasVOy06giaKN52GAUMwYZIByQQ_oXOJLBtLYEGOyvOdRCLMwcytwFxLMRURgBMEQsujOEnfQpfjwpgvtTxEw2ewr_XBd8ia5RL7vPcSO_vsU9RL4jnJ55VjJ1QZMqz/s1913/download%20(2).jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1913" data-original-width="1909" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkUzeBru3QlewWKL-shnDt9E597d1IChnYxnAQ2HZ8LMd_HdGEWPsS7QMdlYbSMasVOy06giaKN52GAUMwYZIByQQ_oXOJLBtLYEGOyvOdRCLMwcytwFxLMRURgBMEQsujOEnfQpfjwpgvtTxEw2ewr_XBd8ia5RL7vPcSO_vsU9RL4jnJ55VjJ1QZMqz/w638-h640/download%20(2).jpeg" width="638" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Matthias Groebel, <i>Untitled</i>, 1993, acrylic on canvas, 95 × 95 cm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 29.1pt -0.25pt; text-indent: -0.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">On his website, we can see a short video of Groebel’s machine in action. Here, following the beep, beep, tickerly tap tap of early computer start-up screens, we are able to see a flicking image and then the ambivalent arm of Groebel’s contraption as it goes about its laborious work of painting this image pixel by pixel, layer by layer. There is something trance-like in watching this machine at work; there is a sense of mystery and intrigue that hold me in suspense. Much like his completed paintings, this cropped encounter has a seductive opaqueness, something that inverts narrative exposition, highlighting the hallucinatory affect of digital image technologies on contemporaneous way of living.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 30.3pt; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Toby Upson</span></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-90837379790540343432023-10-03T16:46:00.004+01:002023-10-03T16:47:49.486+01:00Dinu Li - A Phantom's Vibe <p><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Loosely inspired by the sleeve notes for the first Roxy Music album, William Garvin travels beyond academic art criticism, to comment on a challenging show by Dinu Li.</span></i></p><p><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4l3uaq1bTxqHPhoHmfBfYYFxro82OtpDAXT-ay5gZc-Pwk0g0Ad-tbdOH_aBQE8RQ9MMekJ-U9gfiV_bW1EJMvxFoQp59QAhR53x1sZe-fM-F1kr4p8rRV8v_dOKWmsIA6mNRwjEGVInIJYTbFfqJMwXXNRm9nFK5V67rGMAVg5p8-F3EnLWdjsTZ7FF_/s2000/2)_esea%20contemporary_Dinu%20Li_A%20Phantom's%20Vibe_2023_photo%20credit%20Jules%20Lister_1688_small-p-2000.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="2000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4l3uaq1bTxqHPhoHmfBfYYFxro82OtpDAXT-ay5gZc-Pwk0g0Ad-tbdOH_aBQE8RQ9MMekJ-U9gfiV_bW1EJMvxFoQp59QAhR53x1sZe-fM-F1kr4p8rRV8v_dOKWmsIA6mNRwjEGVInIJYTbFfqJMwXXNRm9nFK5V67rGMAVg5p8-F3EnLWdjsTZ7FF_/w640-h426/2)_esea%20contemporary_Dinu%20Li_A%20Phantom's%20Vibe_2023_photo%20credit%20Jules%20Lister_1688_small-p-2000.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Jules Lister<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">within dimly-lit space an evocation of night markets in hong kong: the presence of pallet dollies, crates, tarpaulin emphasising the makeshift/transitory...</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">(where are we...?) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">sculptural assemblages punctuate a personal narrative ghosting through post-colonial aftershocks - from hong kong to blues parties in manchester's hulme/moss side. accumulations/pilings of random artefacts: abandoned wing mirrors; pom-poms; twisted hair extensions; small model budgerigars (roll up, roll up) ~ jarring juxtapositions, the sensory/information overload of a far eastern market - or is it? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">("to all reggae lovers around the world...) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> where are we? where was i? over the speakers a story told in music/sound system vibrations. <i>skanking hawker</i> intersperses extracts of chinese tribal mountain song in/amongst floating dub echoes/clatter (producers: sleepy ignota/rocksteady ray/keefe west, in collaboration with the artist) ~ also within the mix <i>always together (a chinese love song) </i>stephen cheng: rocksteady classic (1967) ~ mandarin vocal ~ sung in the style of chinese opera (cheng abetted by chinese-jamaican musician byron lee) drifting in & out of gallery space...<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> (nunchaku dub/background)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">...reverberations/displacements of history ~ chinese coolies (low paid workers) brought to work jamaican plantations after the abolition of slavery (transported in the same slave ships) ~ a subsequent history of chinese-owned recording studios helping shape the sounds of bob marley, lee "scratch" perry & augustus pablo, amongst others (search: "chinese influence on reggae", "vp records/history"...) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVDRRVkeEQcN8dbTnPQowjAgps6C9h_Ap2idWPiPPFZ8c9-h5_eNj5yhzfePcxWMZhKa4AkrLUHYvWAnAjHfZlKEEmYxqLsm3svAiQJ3QWGweppov7PjDvM1qJQVSJpwRxjkLG4AbvTNJYtGg9LZ7BspEQM1E8_Fl6nLBxxM8-WTV9XJ9jMk3B9wUVYJR/s2000/3)%20esea%20contemporary_Dinu%20Li_A%20Phantom's%20Vibe_2023_photo%20credit%20Jules%20Lister_1705_small-p-2000.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="2000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVDRRVkeEQcN8dbTnPQowjAgps6C9h_Ap2idWPiPPFZ8c9-h5_eNj5yhzfePcxWMZhKa4AkrLUHYvWAnAjHfZlKEEmYxqLsm3svAiQJ3QWGweppov7PjDvM1qJQVSJpwRxjkLG4AbvTNJYtGg9LZ7BspEQM1E8_Fl6nLBxxM8-WTV9XJ9jMk3B9wUVYJR/w640-h426/3)%20esea%20contemporary_Dinu%20Li_A%20Phantom's%20Vibe_2023_photo%20credit%20Jules%20Lister_1705_small-p-2000.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Jules Lister</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">...here & there, lengths of sugar cane (plantation echoes...) a preponderance of ropes (slave ship echoes...)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">("he walked all the way into darkness")<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">nation family</span></i><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> ~ video installation (2017), based upon the experiences of a cousin sent to work in a chinese labour camp in the 1970's (same location presently a booming domestic tourist destination) ~ recurrence of <i>dr zhivago </i>theme (film set against the backdrop of the russian revolution & ensuing civil war/banned in the soviet union). grainy home movie beach footage/unexpected swerve into 1970's light entertainment stylings. six dancers in spangly tops & black leggings moving to <i>dr zhivago </i>theme (k-tel disco revision) white(washed) background/plastic pot plants (history remade/remodelled?) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">so much to process amongst vibrant imperial reds/reconfigurations in kitschy maximalist arrays. unexpected histories/transitory, ghostly identities in our chaotic, globalised world...</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b>William Garvin</b> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Dinu Li, <i>A Phantom's Vibe </i><br />ESEA Contemporary, Manchester<br />July 22 – 29 October 2023 <o:p></o:p></span></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-38131359136210482802023-09-15T14:01:00.002+01:002023-09-15T14:01:14.133+01:00Muted Slicer Sessions<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><i>Jennifer Caroline Campbell appreciates Tenant of Culture’s cutting skills in a new show at Soft Opening</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEVswUZ4aVuXNskPzruxQj9nqacq34BlTv1amOYYPMywJsELgo5e72jc19qQEh2aonfjbmqZewxatC-RvD7o-yT6pS1vyMMdBVnYPIDkMkzAZGnc03kzLI4xLGJQycCUx1uiVvnSHEbGlC63tRs9qnn4vPuQ79pqCjhCwGJlVqWsbTi9dcML2dEJSFmO8/s3921/3.%20Haul%20(series).heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3921" data-original-width="2884" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEVswUZ4aVuXNskPzruxQj9nqacq34BlTv1amOYYPMywJsELgo5e72jc19qQEh2aonfjbmqZewxatC-RvD7o-yT6pS1vyMMdBVnYPIDkMkzAZGnc03kzLI4xLGJQycCUx1uiVvnSHEbGlC63tRs9qnn4vPuQ79pqCjhCwGJlVqWsbTi9dcML2dEJSFmO8/w294-h400/3.%20Haul%20(series).heic" width="294" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">Haul </i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">(series)</span><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">, </i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">2023, plastic, garments, thread, ribbon</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></span></p><span style="font-family: helvetica;">At around the age of six I had my scissor-obsession phase. I snipped and sliced my way through a mega mix of soft items: my hair, my sister’s hair, my Sindy’s hair, magazines, newspapers, bedsheets, clothes, tablecloths and cushions all fell victim. I didn’t have the nerve to slice through an unopened letter or new packaged item though. I regret this hesitation now, as I examine the meticulously sliced and over-stitched works by Tenant of Culture, currently on display as part of her solo exhibition<i> Ladder</i>, at <i>Soft Opening</i>, London. In the series <i>Haul </i>she has seemingly attacked unopened packages of fast fashion mail-order garments. Geometric lines cut and stitch through the plastic packets, revealing snatches of their sabotaged contents. These almost crystalline geometric formations destroy and transform in the same moment, imposing a new order that is both structure and surface. They also disrupt the divide between what is outside and what is inner, allowing a flow of quenching contamination into the sanitary vacuum. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirm5DRJpnT3wmxtHlNgmHJFL0zrAIG5oaW21oenUZ4id5P8nsL5aDkGS6WKREFuzkkNCAp_F_gQVgQC7nG6PD3yfgnEip92WhWZzhD10t_TBLtXp4fUsg4NYUPwzb9vb10RzC_rrPD_xIdkT5S0waNlj5xC84ZTxdIbp1zz6KVvOohjmDPQQ5RAjEDPthD/s4032/1.%20Haul%20(series)%202023.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirm5DRJpnT3wmxtHlNgmHJFL0zrAIG5oaW21oenUZ4id5P8nsL5aDkGS6WKREFuzkkNCAp_F_gQVgQC7nG6PD3yfgnEip92WhWZzhD10t_TBLtXp4fUsg4NYUPwzb9vb10RzC_rrPD_xIdkT5S0waNlj5xC84ZTxdIbp1zz6KVvOohjmDPQQ5RAjEDPthD/w300-h400/1.%20Haul%20(series)%202023.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">Haul </i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">(series), </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">2023, plastic, garments, thread</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Unlike my childhood impulses, carried out in disobedient secrecy, Tenant of Culture knows that these destructive gestures are a public performance, to be viewed via its traces. In particular, that they will be seen under the bright and magnifying light of the art gallery, which renders each micro-decision visible and loaded. What kind of action is being performed then, and what kind of statement is being made? What is released and what passes through these newly permeable membranes? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A rich history of garment sabotage and damage mimicry is conversed with here, including the renaissance fashion for slit-covered clothing (symbolising political alliance and hierarchy), the mid eighteenth century cutters movement and silk weavers fight for stable wages. Asking how acts of sabotage and protest can find power and voice within the tightening grip of a profit-obsessed system certainly feels poignant in the current moment. Damage-as-decoration is a complex sign to unpick in this era of increasing wealth inequality. The recent vogue for pre-damaged garments feels particularly uncanny in the hands of <i>Satisfy, </i>a spenny athletic clothing brand whose<i> </i>signature t-shirt ‘Mothtech’ has a scattering of realistic looking moth holes, ‘strategically placed for ventilation’. These punctures are of course carefully designed not to ladder or further destroy the garment. In the Mothtech t-shirt, there are no hungry moths and the damage is not a wage protest or a signal that the wearer is either poor or punk. Yet I always think there is something to a trend, something that people in a certain moment are drawn to for a reason, something trying to speak. The works in <i>Ladder</i> give space for me to chew on this slippery web of signs, fashion, impulse and process. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">However, for me, the power of the works in the <i>Haul</i> series is in the tone of its language: like a muffled scream, these works contain a compelling mix of restraint and abandon, a meticulous rashness. The act of the transforming of these common objects pulls them away from enforced replicability and towards a unique and ineffable presence. There is something both adult and angsty in the tone of this treatment. Acts of performative sabotage take on a ritualistic flavour. Rhythmic mutating gestures hold on to the visceral, while keeping things dry and neat. It makes me think about a quiet kind of fury, one that knows it must sustain itself for the long run. An awareness, that the current absurdity of the world will not let-up any time soon, produces necessity for a slow burning outrage. So the rage takes careful paths across these mass-produced, click-of-a-key-board purchases, tightening and warping them like a piercing lattice of armour. A brow knitting and re-knitting causes the furrows to delve deep and stay put. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpbTydUS4UjQ9TL3X7Ghg6dkJ-I7wXOx1z_MDdHPRhcog67TcsZ9cNJSwWn4X74c0oD-SLu6LvisPgRuYLz5KcsN6RaW-YoQRm25YVQMp7G-8akxD1P3E_W2afUNMYhkbiEdE0JVYnQ4kmCfK38ebWlc1RHTyj6g2NRZbdxcyPvAMaGWakPhITamvbV_N/s4032/2.%20Haul%20(series).HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpbTydUS4UjQ9TL3X7Ghg6dkJ-I7wXOx1z_MDdHPRhcog67TcsZ9cNJSwWn4X74c0oD-SLu6LvisPgRuYLz5KcsN6RaW-YoQRm25YVQMp7G-8akxD1P3E_W2afUNMYhkbiEdE0JVYnQ4kmCfK38ebWlc1RHTyj6g2NRZbdxcyPvAMaGWakPhITamvbV_N/w300-h400/2.%20Haul%20(series).HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">Haul</i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;"> (series), </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; text-align: start;">2023, plastic, garments, thread, ribbon</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Some of the folds and cuts in <i>Haul</i> are garnished with ribbons or rivets, lending an aura of elegant certainty, so that these new forms convince me that they are the true forms. Proud and posing in their changed state, they quietly delight in the specificity that the world never meant them to have. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><b><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><b><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Jennifer Caroline Campbell<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><b><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> <br /></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Tenant of Culture<i>, Ladder</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Soft Opening, 6 Minerva Street, London EC2<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">8 September - 21 October 2023</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-69662235157513914532023-07-07T22:13:00.005+01:002023-07-07T22:18:51.315+01:00Star Gazing in the City <p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><i>Alex Michon spends an astrologically themed afternoon in London visiting ‘Yevonde: Life and Colour’ at the National Portrait Gallery and Wes Anderson’s ‘Asteroid City’ at the Garden Cinema.</i></span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7J5DpS3XBPaDpfJjL3ux0fG1Zm4ee_9SdvYTJ0_1rsZt_Y0mKXwUnDxZXY-2wxJRgA69QDOH0pMtfLTXV3ZyI1VHax_-gFgG2W7RSX7VzTfkcudzVoA9IfOWDGUndd9NRiP-nVdUDiYxAYWHA6N0RP8QCfbkpgRACYP0PW-z4xKzw6WPuJzykA9Ll4ef/s1322/comp.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="1322" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7J5DpS3XBPaDpfJjL3ux0fG1Zm4ee_9SdvYTJ0_1rsZt_Y0mKXwUnDxZXY-2wxJRgA69QDOH0pMtfLTXV3ZyI1VHax_-gFgG2W7RSX7VzTfkcudzVoA9IfOWDGUndd9NRiP-nVdUDiYxAYWHA6N0RP8QCfbkpgRACYP0PW-z4xKzw6WPuJzykA9Ll4ef/w640-h386/comp.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><i>Asteroid City</i> (Wes Anderson, 2023); Yvonde, <i>Lady Glendovan</i>, 1936</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><br /><i><br /></i></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">When I saw Madame Yevonde’s photograph of Lady Glendevon at the National Portrait Gallery I literally gasped, bewitched by its breathtaking beauty. The exhibition: <i>Yevonde: Life and Colour</i> is the most comprehensive to date of the British photographer, Yevonde Middleton (1893-1975) who signed her work simply as Yevonde but was also known as ‘Madame Yevonde’. Having been an ardent suffragette, Yevonde was a pioneer, a celebrated portraitist, innovative colourist and advocate for women in the profession. She championed the use of colour photography and was the first person in Britain to exhibit colour photography.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">In contrast to some of the more sumptuously coloured photographs in this exhibition, the Lady Glendevon photograph is relatively subtle. It was this understated quality that I found so appealing; the inky, lilac greyish fading sky with its am-dram stuck on stars backdrop, mirrored in the pinky white camellias on our Lady’s dress as she strikes her pose. Perfectly coiffured, </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">be-pearled, </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">exquisitely manicured, and sporting Hollywood glamour makeup, she stares thoughtfully at a half-glimpsed globe. Perhaps she is regretfully anticipating the inevitable decline of the British Empire?</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3XTruoAd5vhx-Fct253qaI6uyEC6e1659pTu6_92j4IjTDw8RQLKTuSyS-gMi4AZ8SMFbd5hHMOsxNcl-kj_hzslxaSUDdNTZWFN_-LxixmqRf63Y8AwGBS1VpTEsiC-nvtI4qKubQUQyUcz_c8_-BRnaAxtwGrWiVcwMZF9mxbu90MxJEosEnFrM6V2/s800/Louis-Mountbatten-Earl-Mountbatten-of-Burma-Edwina-Cynthia-Annette-ne-Ashley-Countess-Mountbatten-of-Burma.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="629" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3XTruoAd5vhx-Fct253qaI6uyEC6e1659pTu6_92j4IjTDw8RQLKTuSyS-gMi4AZ8SMFbd5hHMOsxNcl-kj_hzslxaSUDdNTZWFN_-LxixmqRf63Y8AwGBS1VpTEsiC-nvtI4qKubQUQyUcz_c8_-BRnaAxtwGrWiVcwMZF9mxbu90MxJEosEnFrM6V2/w315-h400/Louis-Mountbatten-Earl-Mountbatten-of-Burma-Edwina-Cynthia-Annette-ne-Ashley-Countess-Mountbatten-of-Burma.webp" width="315" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yvonde, <i>Lord and Lady Mountbatten</i>, 1937</span></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">There is no escaping the fact that many of these photographs are portraits of white upper-class privileged aristocracy. Lord and Lady Mountbatten were considered to be the most beautiful couple in England when they married in 1922. In Yevonde’s portrait, Lord Mountbatten is shown gazing smugly at his beautiful wife as if she were just one more bauble on his overblown tasselled, silver-starred and robed regalia. But here too there are subtle small gold stars bedecking the theatrical curtains used as a backdrop which undermine the puffed-up finery on show. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">However, there is so much more to Yevonde’s work than portraits of the posh. There are a stunning series of surrealist images from her 'Goddess' series which have a beguiling Jean Cocteauesque theatricality. This otherworldliness echos the words of the film director Wes Anderson who in describing his methodology said</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">: ‘the kind of movie that I like to make is where there is an invented reality and the audience is going to go someplace where hopefully they've never been before. The details, that's what the world is made of.’</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpounEqCkg3-RtDplAljMhnRBJ0PWICyLu1z9VHaMNxtGof_8uWrcWWMtiw8rge32FbxGZ2NPPRmF-45b9NEKWk045ArLUMgXqlw61S79ece-j0uu8aYsFdDLXtdm2eUdxfzdehVBwf_Go18HYBuP4BucOIj4pk2UC_NALn3wUm4AbiwPo36CLnR-s6sRH/s1464/Goddesss.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="1464" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpounEqCkg3-RtDplAljMhnRBJ0PWICyLu1z9VHaMNxtGof_8uWrcWWMtiw8rge32FbxGZ2NPPRmF-45b9NEKWk045ArLUMgXqlw61S79ece-j0uu8aYsFdDLXtdm2eUdxfzdehVBwf_Go18HYBuP4BucOIj4pk2UC_NALn3wUm4AbiwPo36CLnR-s6sRH/w640-h296/Goddesss.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none;">Yvonde: </span><span style="color: #313131; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none;"><i>Lady Bridget Poulett as Arethusa</i>; </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none;"><i>Eileen Hunter </i></span><span style="color: #313131; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none;"><i>(</i></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none;"><i>Mrs Ward</i></span><span style="color: #313131; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none;"><i>) as Dido</i></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none;"><i>; Baroness Gagern as Europa</i></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Anderson and Yevonde share this love of the creation of an otherworldly universe and this correlation is what struck me when I went on to watch <i>Asteroid City</i>. Coincidentally, Tilda Swinton who plays Dr Hinkerlooper, a scientist at a local observatory in Anderson’s film, is a collector of Yevonde’s work. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Set in the 1950s, <i>Asteroid City</i> features a series of behind-the scenes sequences in black and white, presenting a theatre troupe on the East Coast rehearsing a play called <i>Asteroid City</i> which tells the story of how people are intrigued by the fact that an asteroid has fallen to earth. As we go on to see the various acts of the play, the film bursts into colour. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">The film is a loving, detailed homage to 50s Americana and is full of symmetrical close ups, saturated colour and impeccable costume and set design. Anderson’s films have been criticised as being style over substance. But if, like me you are partial to style, colour, inventive quirkiness and a singular vision, then Yvonde’s<i> Life in Colour</i> and Anderson’s <i>Asteroid City</i> are the places to head to. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Alex Michon</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">July 2023</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBc2bKl_H_0CMfmI1KJmecfnNM8VraOAkKpyiBdUhxJ0U-NpMYMSPCLVkhLFLLp8m-gbHqbgF-ne9XgS0vkD9dV1jgewsqppiUhFSpfSoPYFczeVDHNzpsxWdDlf6krmyisu5S60o98vwXjSwjHf-dtZHVKRQ093JlaGBaOFjqOI-ozlE60ejpTs9ZJkF/s1920/Asteroid-City-crop-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1920" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBc2bKl_H_0CMfmI1KJmecfnNM8VraOAkKpyiBdUhxJ0U-NpMYMSPCLVkhLFLLp8m-gbHqbgF-ne9XgS0vkD9dV1jgewsqppiUhFSpfSoPYFczeVDHNzpsxWdDlf6krmyisu5S60o98vwXjSwjHf-dtZHVKRQ093JlaGBaOFjqOI-ozlE60ejpTs9ZJkF/w640-h284/Asteroid-City-crop-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Asteroid City</i> (2023)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Yevonde: Life and Colour</span></i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">National Portrait Gallery, London <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">until 15 October 2023<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Asteroid City</span></i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> is currently on general release<o:p></o:p></span></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-27183508257090533832023-06-21T13:09:00.011+01:002023-06-22T10:14:19.749+01:00The Divine DIVA<p><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The big summer exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum covers a lot of bases but fails to delve below the surface glitz. Cathy Lomax basks in the glow of the glamour</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkXBmJaa6lejs5RVBrzO30AeG5RAAfehHQe-uqt3mr_fiPCFxaJ5UwXmxnhNTBNjQQ-OSzK5sflyixZ-z3lCoKUJssfHcUhm3mrAQOTTk3RwmKcr5ocqbB31sz3yuZWRc2R_Qd7keQKuIuJCQSQxGfP9wU-7p4_VhB8P4cwD9cighi8YOla_SFZw1z0L7M/s3633/IMG_8276.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2559" data-original-width="3633" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkXBmJaa6lejs5RVBrzO30AeG5RAAfehHQe-uqt3mr_fiPCFxaJ5UwXmxnhNTBNjQQ-OSzK5sflyixZ-z3lCoKUJssfHcUhm3mrAQOTTk3RwmKcr5ocqbB31sz3yuZWRc2R_Qd7keQKuIuJCQSQxGfP9wU-7p4_VhB8P4cwD9cighi8YOla_SFZw1z0L7M/w640-h450/IMG_8276.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Marilyn Monroe projected on the ceiling of the Victoria and Albert Museum above the DIVA exhibition</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">DIVA begins (naturally) with ‘Act One’ in which the scene is set by two white marble portrait busts of Juno and nineteenth century opera star Adelina Patti. This poetic start neatly leads us to French writer and critic Théophile Gautier who first described the female opera singer as a diva (the Latin word for goddess) as he considered her talent to have been divinely bestowed. Although today's diva still has the heavenly looks the term has expanded and now denotes a flamboyant performer who is also what we might call a<i> prima donna</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7Z1npavrmzmQ2PcoIPNRV8np6JPm3I5mmm1wbbLy7iBSssuCHrzdIDB2W5oY7ghR-70_VF61gunjh1YVYJH-3AW59jdPvWEqcnOFJbw0zDWzTxFtdzU21lyQw8cdnMKtydqzGPgPbEEPkPjs-C-qq0vKFciUaHnc3hUbc-iAB2PrHVcvXW10NnbkJuTv/s3971/IMG_8321.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2652" data-original-width="3971" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7Z1npavrmzmQ2PcoIPNRV8np6JPm3I5mmm1wbbLy7iBSssuCHrzdIDB2W5oY7ghR-70_VF61gunjh1YVYJH-3AW59jdPvWEqcnOFJbw0zDWzTxFtdzU21lyQw8cdnMKtydqzGPgPbEEPkPjs-C-qq0vKFciUaHnc3hUbc-iAB2PrHVcvXW10NnbkJuTv/w640-h427/IMG_8321.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hollywood costumes as worn by Judy Garland, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">I think I first became aware of the term when the film <i>Diva</i> (1981) was released and as I understood it, it described a highly strung, temperamental opera singer. In the DIVA exhibition opera swiftly gives way to theatre with Sarah Bernhardt and Ellen Terry effectively trailing my favourite section – Hollywood stars. There is some pure gold here with representation from the early days of cinema through to Elizabeth Taylor’s turn in <i>Cleopatra </i>in the 1960s. The film costumes on display are quite spectacular in terms of their importance to film history with this classical Hollywood fan practically swooning at Joan Crawford's <i>Mildred Pierce </i>dress, Bette Davis' satiny <i>All About Eve </i>ensemble and Marilyn Monroe's little black <i>Some Like it Hot </i>dress (other costumes on display include those worn by Clara Bow, Josephine Baker, Theda Bara, Mary Pickford, Carole Lombard, Judy Garland, Vivien Leigh and Mae West). Many of the costumes are brought to life by photographs and well selected film clips. Elizabeth Taylor’s Cleopatra commanding Richard Burton’s Marc Anthony to kneel before her is perfect high camp! Beyond the visual delights the complicated tussle between the exploitation and agency of stars (and women in Hollywood more generally) is suggested in accompanying texts but this is never quite explored thoroughly or argued convincingly. <o:p></o:p></p><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGEOrtU3AAFlExYNQh14OZDVOp2j_o4xV1wgQlrufBHOkT9xTaVrzhLvhk4_YIzJ33rN21iwwBuqiO6uYAwGa1w5rV_iZBXZKhcGa694nqIN6UPBRWOocPpVBGg8iEUfJH_gVZBj6V-3T7i8mj5jowPOoC2eedYCwzZuZNY0DzFJoyJAy1LfnctqKFHNDr/s3663/IMG_8372.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2408" data-original-width="3663" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGEOrtU3AAFlExYNQh14OZDVOp2j_o4xV1wgQlrufBHOkT9xTaVrzhLvhk4_YIzJ33rN21iwwBuqiO6uYAwGa1w5rV_iZBXZKhcGa694nqIN6UPBRWOocPpVBGg8iEUfJH_gVZBj6V-3T7i8mj5jowPOoC2eedYCwzZuZNY0DzFJoyJAy1LfnctqKFHNDr/w640-h420/IMG_8372.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Cleopatra</i> (1962)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">A note here about the audio guide which rather than the usual dull and user-unfriendly offering was cleverly broadcast from a set of headphones that sit above the ears and respond automatically to exhibits providing musical and film sound accompaniment rather than wordy (often tedious) explanations. This soundtrack propelled me through the exhibition and helped to smooth over some of the more clunkily and tenuous inclusions of the chosen cast of mostly female stars. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSbvW8sYUmTFpJwYHpp0COp4JYkkgSlKN3TaVyZJg-sTh_cmLPc0406IyxsE4PnFjDNmMr5CM5SDntsShqhtfHL28P4uq9j83LVbLxoTozVNcgRK3xZRc70sB4Ft1RMOAg5UprK02JQ_9H08czJysiVjdb3zE74UlVRe4_ZNFVtX8kG95RiQYaoHg0t29/s4032/IMG_8363.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSbvW8sYUmTFpJwYHpp0COp4JYkkgSlKN3TaVyZJg-sTh_cmLPc0406IyxsE4PnFjDNmMr5CM5SDntsShqhtfHL28P4uq9j83LVbLxoTozVNcgRK3xZRc70sB4Ft1RMOAg5UprK02JQ_9H08czJysiVjdb3zE74UlVRe4_ZNFVtX8kG95RiQYaoHg0t29/w640-h480/IMG_8363.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bob Mackie talks Cher</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Upstairs in ‘Act Two’ the emphasis is on ‘the diva today’ and it is musical stars (of all genders) that dominate. Alongside Beyonce, Rihanna and Lady Gaga, there is a stunning centrepiece featuring some of Cher’s figure-hugging bespangled outfits designed by Bob Mackie. It was only after circling the exhibit that I realised that the dapper elderly gentleman being interviewed was Mr Mackie himself! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGFEavfQSRSM6WrObxEGClVSeCj1yQ4a9MgpWEeDIkIJCrWS_kIVqkw8wgHjzyf-8hd5yK6UV34LLcF77-yuuUX5g22ufPr9pP-Z_DV3QUGxnx0DQaKfYgkhtLR4YykiRrsgmMuuruS1y-0HSBglybaUIpiZ2zNJ4nJZcah6j0in1pXn24aT2xWEmdA-d/s3034/IMG_8359.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3034" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGFEavfQSRSM6WrObxEGClVSeCj1yQ4a9MgpWEeDIkIJCrWS_kIVqkw8wgHjzyf-8hd5yK6UV34LLcF77-yuuUX5g22ufPr9pP-Z_DV3QUGxnx0DQaKfYgkhtLR4YykiRrsgmMuuruS1y-0HSBglybaUIpiZ2zNJ4nJZcah6j0in1pXn24aT2xWEmdA-d/w400-h399/IMG_8359.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The austere Edith Piaff exhibit</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">I am not any clearer about what exactly it is that the exhibition defines as a diva – profiles of performers as disparate as Nina Simone, Siouxsie Sioux, Edith Piaff, Elton John, Sade, Ella Fitzgerald, Janelle Monáe, Prince, Kate Bush and PJ Harvey are closely clustered together. Is a diva a show off? Or maybe a successful entertainer who likes dressing up? The press release describes the ‘Act Two’ divas as reclaiming the title and using it as ‘an expression of their art, voice, and sense of self’. But surely Billie Holliday and Ella Fitzgerald made a living singing and their emphasis was on music rather than image. I suspect the pull will be the contemporary ‘divas’ with their Met Gala outfits who in effect operate as successful business people rather than artists per se. Rihanna, we are told, is the wealthiest female musician in the world with her $1.7 billion fortune mainly built through her 'suite of companies'. But there are efforts to link these contemporary divas with their Hollywood counterparts. Such as a 2017 sketch of Rihanna’s Fenty Beauty makeup which recalls a caption describing Mary Pickford’s makeup line of the 1930s which is displayed alongside her makeup case in Act One. And of course Elizabeth Taylor demanded and received a $1 million dollar fee to play Cleopatra, which made her the highest earning performer in Hollywood history. So maybe little has changed!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5YfytO-EK-dWC30rQb5UnyletEG14CaEqWq0QuHY0UKDy_mbGeJrJs3psnpKyRlz1fZgDIbZ-EntjJNbAghtQDO_B5qjDMkh_WPcZJpkuRqAcqsGJRpR8B36eYgGaFSXlu1CIKCYsdjuGKHpnntsmKLacGoId_a5cJBqomnAxDhiA8c_-YKro4V08xsg/s2958/8952FE1F-77CB-43BB-866C-5D5BD350AF61.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2073" data-original-width="2958" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5YfytO-EK-dWC30rQb5UnyletEG14CaEqWq0QuHY0UKDy_mbGeJrJs3psnpKyRlz1fZgDIbZ-EntjJNbAghtQDO_B5qjDMkh_WPcZJpkuRqAcqsGJRpR8B36eYgGaFSXlu1CIKCYsdjuGKHpnntsmKLacGoId_a5cJBqomnAxDhiA8c_-YKro4V08xsg/w640-h448/8952FE1F-77CB-43BB-866C-5D5BD350AF61.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sketches for Rihanna's Fenty Beauty makeup, 2017</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLgmf-DzjYakNwrBCImkl3sHd0j1ZBFWeYRb40u0pXGCLkFgwKWZ8HYAGah9fpYDdDIMUSAXY1OFzyorN2c0sur8Rv41zlPLVf2-aptQnPwR63GPVkLDZ6Tr_SgxznuehGLdwAQXabqBipb0f0Y_QS4Owsnz6MNy-8GsQn6N8HYdc4SuC4drXct4hfFC_Y/s4032/IMG_8297.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLgmf-DzjYakNwrBCImkl3sHd0j1ZBFWeYRb40u0pXGCLkFgwKWZ8HYAGah9fpYDdDIMUSAXY1OFzyorN2c0sur8Rv41zlPLVf2-aptQnPwR63GPVkLDZ6Tr_SgxznuehGLdwAQXabqBipb0f0Y_QS4Owsnz6MNy-8GsQn6N8HYdc4SuC4drXct4hfFC_Y/w640-h480/IMG_8297.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mary Pickford's makeup case, circa 1938</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">There is a lot to enjoy here but it is only a very brief introduction to the style and careers of the very many talented people represented. Maybe more of a focus on a particular era, or a reduced list of featured artists, would have made for a better exhibition? As it is the diva premise feels a little woolly (film director Lois Weber may have been a female pioneer in early Hollywood but not sure why she is a diva) and this is really a mere introduction to these magnificent performers with extra work from the viewer essential to fill in the details of their dazzling and fascinating careers. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Cathy Lomax</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">June 2023</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">DIVA</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Victoria and Albert Museum</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">London </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">24 June 2023 – 24 June 2023</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br />An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-22645625742344614032023-06-20T09:05:00.009+01:002023-06-20T09:18:40.294+01:00The Folly of Follies: The Wedding Cake at Waddesdon<p><i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Rosemary Cronin indulges her inner child by climbing into Joana Vasconcelos' giant ceramic wedding cake at </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Waddesdon Manor</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">. </span><span face="BrandonText, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(71, 83, 96); color: #475360; font-size: 21.6px;"> </span></i></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUGdERC2eKfePWZqTt4y-l5fODfYz6iyHnrA9kww9plSweRmXODovhLJH5mO2J0FnuD1X5FTEVX-cTQoLhNKZ1s0UitCxt1comz1rxcu1gnoBmiPLy72F9dzDMoyqjRg4Ualyi0ldsXIrzHuPN71WexYZRy7kwG5PUEYuWUlVckTbZp0p6zsAmuPc5N2s/s8064/sbz6yWsA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6048" data-original-width="8064" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUGdERC2eKfePWZqTt4y-l5fODfYz6iyHnrA9kww9plSweRmXODovhLJH5mO2J0FnuD1X5FTEVX-cTQoLhNKZ1s0UitCxt1comz1rxcu1gnoBmiPLy72F9dzDMoyqjRg4Ualyi0ldsXIrzHuPN71WexYZRy7kwG5PUEYuWUlVckTbZp0p6zsAmuPc5N2s/w640-h480/sbz6yWsA.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Do you remember the first artwork that captured your imagination when you were a child? I have a few, but a really vivid memory is seeing Karl Lagerfeld for Dior’s Piano Key cocktail dress in the Victoria & Albert Museum. I think I must have been eight years old, and every half term my mother would take me up to London and we would see things that would just fill my little heart and mind with delight. But that dress really made my imagination take flight… I imagined who might wear it, an elegant beautiful woman at the best party in Paris, drinking champagne and falling in love – I was eight years old remember! Young and naive I didn't realise that the dress has rarely been worn, and probably went straight from catwalk to the vitrine in the museum, or even worse storage.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Imagine then, if you can in this hyper virtual world, being taken as a child today to a 12-meter-tall, ceramic, wedding cake building that you can climb up! One made up of edible colours like pink blancmange, baby blue icing and yellow fondant, with fibre optics that light up at night! And this cake building of wonder is on a fairy-tale-like 1800s manor estate surrounded by forests, fountains and a rather spectacular aviary. Surely you would be captivated and spellbound, and in a feeling akin to a sugar rush – a little delirious ?!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvcZgw1Hwl6bfKdAeKAqj0WOdLHpeQaaIOE83i1-AvMpNQZtSvBsgYy5nr5yUhzp0mUvQtN-KpZPiGvRYp024MfnpKM0hoLZ-YswC9C6quu-ebsYTpndg-M2watSFg1I5jzRXLTG5yb_lyhmPlQVFmIVwhTGXVva-gt3t6KMhN2VMozmPcjMV_9CAB5HIE/s7980/HoVZ_J0U.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5097" data-original-width="7980" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvcZgw1Hwl6bfKdAeKAqj0WOdLHpeQaaIOE83i1-AvMpNQZtSvBsgYy5nr5yUhzp0mUvQtN-KpZPiGvRYp024MfnpKM0hoLZ-YswC9C6quu-ebsYTpndg-M2watSFg1I5jzRXLTG5yb_lyhmPlQVFmIVwhTGXVva-gt3t6KMhN2VMozmPcjMV_9CAB5HIE/w640-h408/HoVZ_J0U.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><o:p><br /></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Portuguese artist Joana Vasconcelos has found in Lord Rothschild, in her own words, ‘someone who is as eccentric as me, and someone that can believe has high and wild as me’. Together over the last five years they have created ‘impossible dreams, impossible artworks – we all have them!’ and whilst they flippantly referred to <i>Wedding Cake</i> as a folly of follies, it actually feels like something far more special and magical than most people could dream of. Seeing them talk together was a beautiful moment, a friendship of two souls that have made magic together and have clearly found a solution to any problem that may have arisen in making this spectacular installation.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Waddesdon Manor with its treasure box of artwork, jewels and precious furniture pieces, with <i>Wedding Cake </i>has added : ‘a temple for people to be happy and to have a moment that they will never forget’. If you haven’t been to Waddesdon then I thoroughly recommend a summer sojourn to the estate to see both <i>Wedding Cake</i> and Mia Jackson’s curation of the Rothschild Treasury – a truly wondrous display of more than 300 objects made from rare and precious materials. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Rothschild and Vasconcelos’ triumphant partnership proves that fairy tales can come true, and are even available to the public to enjoy!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Rosemary Cronin</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">June 2023</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUBOg9etFcM8h1BIuE0NQEBtdusBxYT2mNdtReHdPtDhgemhTVXWVuhsK6pmslkuLSiJXEGEOtWAqldrQBkHlwubjpHsh0HLz3vVQYt6Ql26SPBOY2I9nD_NYG7RepPH2Wi7ViWzRYlOwisnrSYznoyKqCwmBMkFYT7SVyB92mMZ8fLsxIzdWTGQoX1fl/s5315/WYSfbJWk.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3543" data-original-width="5315" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCUBOg9etFcM8h1BIuE0NQEBtdusBxYT2mNdtReHdPtDhgemhTVXWVuhsK6pmslkuLSiJXEGEOtWAqldrQBkHlwubjpHsh0HLz3vVQYt6Ql26SPBOY2I9nD_NYG7RepPH2Wi7ViWzRYlOwisnrSYznoyKqCwmBMkFYT7SVyB92mMZ8fLsxIzdWTGQoX1fl/w640-h426/WYSfbJWk.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Visit Joana Vasconcelos: <i>Wedding Cake</i> at Waddesdon Manor until 26 October 2023</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Waddesdon Manor</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Aylesbury</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Buckinghamshire HP18 0JH</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-18605915528517772462023-06-16T12:59:00.004+01:002023-06-18T08:23:52.399+01:00'A shiny ghost stops me at the edge'<p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><i>Jennifer Caroline Campbell has a poetic response to Lotus Laurie Kang's artworks in a show at the Chisenhale Gallery. </i></span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><i><br /></i></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshecRQbLWxvyp3pIr391L0Dzhof85CV57VtyIdTXY6732s4WpZoyPKLGoPJ57rNGU5ISGQYdLHSMzWNH09SvHcruePc3fV23RZHecCwGsB6mINulwpKWkHjnrg9_uzE0zYCkhds2jTyFGQ8Ni5ufubH1j5Bj-dFt32U7RqYaSnyeg1KRbIvQvnOmSkQ/s3002/image4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1895" data-original-width="3002" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshecRQbLWxvyp3pIr391L0Dzhof85CV57VtyIdTXY6732s4WpZoyPKLGoPJ57rNGU5ISGQYdLHSMzWNH09SvHcruePc3fV23RZHecCwGsB6mINulwpKWkHjnrg9_uzE0zYCkhds2jTyFGQ8Ni5ufubH1j5Bj-dFt32U7RqYaSnyeg1KRbIvQvnOmSkQ/w640-h405/image4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photos Jennifer Caroline Campbell</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Lotus Laurie Kang's multidisciplinary practice lets the process lead the way forward. Her work utilises a fine-tuned sensitivity to materials and their liveliness. The work often carries on developing beyond the conventional finishing point, and so, just like us, it is in a state of perpetual becoming. Her current installation at Chisenhale Gallery,<i> In Cascades, </i>is her first institutional solo exhibition in Europe, and I hope it is the first of many. Here is my response to it:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Slow sun bathing through glass panes. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Writhing shapes in the sand.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">My body moves the air, nudging the glossy slithers that hang from a perforated, gleaming grid. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Thin slices of remembered light, still forming. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">A sunset in a darkroom, repeated. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">I might fall into the seams, like the silver bits. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Lined up twists of kelp, anchovies and cabbage. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">I keep moving, looping.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">A shiny ghost stops me at the edge. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Two rigid mice, clinging and gone. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Or a mirrored twin. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">I turn back in like a ball bearing.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">My reflection licks just above the floor. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Edges breaking. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Small hard spheres hug through a slippery surface, gripping and ready to let go of the curling film. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p>Jennifer Caroline Campbell</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p>June 2023</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Lotus Laurie Kang,<i> In Cascades</i> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Chisenhale Gallery, London E3 <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">2 June – 30 July 2023</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-3731450497917751562023-06-02T15:22:00.003+01:002023-06-02T15:24:21.237+01:00It Started with a Kiss<p><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Jennifer Caroline Campbell discovers a hidden LBGTQ+ history embedded in carnival </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">ephemera at Auto Italia in east London.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">It all changed with a kiss. That is, according to scattered whispers, local gossip and anecdote. It was 1974 and carnival season in the plurinational South American state of Bolivia. A glamourous Las Chinas Morenas performer named Barbarella approached </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">dictator Hugo Banzer Suárez, and gave him a kiss</span><span lang="EN-US">. The fragments of this story, the context that lead up to it, and its legacy, have been carefully gathered by </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">David Aruquipa Pérez</span><span lang="EN-US">, a Bolivian artist, archivist and activist. He has worked with London based, </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.15pt;">Quechua-Spanish artist, Aitor González Valencia, to present this vital piece of history in an exhibition titled <i>Barbarella’s Kiss</i> at Auto Italia</span><span lang="EN-US">. The main focus of the exhibition is a collection of 41 photographs, which are laid out in minimal orderly fashion in brightly colored glass-topped vitrines. All from the pre-digital era, these photographs show their stories in their physical features as well as what the lens has captured. One is torn at the edge because it was hurriedly snatched from a photo album before a conservative relative could see it. In another a man’s face has been scratched out. Others are curling and scuffed on their white borders and one appears to have been reproduced as a postcard. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYw7wZ_syikMLM8g6nME7TfUN7E-wzpbIO3dKvEEjXVRyBfxcb0C_5_ispksx_YN_MF9L2qcqDH86ol76C9yAGsblipb6XfgiN4F50jrOR5aner_2ZtL-ZvrkqacCCTPQcguuvpD64xu_JTSdKRQmAcFihEzUaaN5iG-lNggv3Jhok9bJQoP3vVDwXYA/s3006/BKS%201.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2309" data-original-width="3006" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYw7wZ_syikMLM8g6nME7TfUN7E-wzpbIO3dKvEEjXVRyBfxcb0C_5_ispksx_YN_MF9L2qcqDH86ol76C9yAGsblipb6XfgiN4F50jrOR5aner_2ZtL-ZvrkqacCCTPQcguuvpD64xu_JTSdKRQmAcFihEzUaaN5iG-lNggv3Jhok9bJQoP3vVDwXYA/w400-h308/BKS%201.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Looking down into these crystalised moments is like glimpsing snatches of a temporary world, one that is brought into reality by the will of the performers. It reminds me of when I first saw the <i>Casa Susanna</i>photographs, a collection of snap shots taken by cross dressers who regularly met up (and dressed up) in a particular house, during the 1950s in upstate New York. Although the context is very different, both collections of photographs have a snow-globe quality. To me they are like windows onto a contained realm, where temporary and communal freedom crackles and darts between glances, body language, fashion language and fake eye lashes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Both collections work to undo the willful forgetting that has been imposed on the rich history of non-conforming gender diversity, a history that the dominant narrative has only just begun to acknowledge. Both document a particular way of performing for the camera and an embodiment of temporary identities. But the spaces that these activities took place in are very different. The <i>Casa Susanna</i> photographs were, until their rediscovery, private. They were made of and for the guests at the <i>Casa Susanna</i> house and their small community. </span>Rather than a by-product or even an intentional document they were instead a way of constructing a self. <span lang="EN-US">When discussing the <i>Casa Susanna</i> collection, professor of philosophy and cross-dresser Miggi Alicia Gilbert said ‘</span>When you can’t be who you want to be, whenever you want to be it, then those images are a reassurance. They’re a recognition that say yes, I can do that, I can be that person as well as the one I happen to be now’. <span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;">The photographs on show in the <i>Barbarella’s Kiss</i> exhibition feel more haphazard.<i> </i>The<i> La China Morena</i>performers were not allowed access to photography studios and appear not to have had a safe space to play in, like the <i>Casa Susanna</i> regulars did. Their posing is fierce, provocative, laced with political action and deep routed local beliefs about the plurality of identity. The way the performers hold the space in front of the lens somehow reverses that often exploitative power dynamic, where the person behind the camera has all the agency. Barbaralla and company are not subjected to the camera, they demand its attention.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIVg2KqTVxTfi2Qk6mogE50oNLNZ4UsVfRa64_BAmzJrXK2y1puu5fCOOSJroIen4WvB1plNKhzAwntkETOQqAfqUmXw45JcFB-O5E41sOvwsiT_bAdvDwU_GE7p2uhY_xXr2dyiNcsiB5uRLEEckmArFiTnEqAPZHhUMHcU-zwkvaSd4UioRejMfug/s2121/BKS%202.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2121" data-original-width="1559" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIVg2KqTVxTfi2Qk6mogE50oNLNZ4UsVfRa64_BAmzJrXK2y1puu5fCOOSJroIen4WvB1plNKhzAwntkETOQqAfqUmXw45JcFB-O5E41sOvwsiT_bAdvDwU_GE7p2uhY_xXr2dyiNcsiB5uRLEEckmArFiTnEqAPZHhUMHcU-zwkvaSd4UioRejMfug/w294-h400/BKS%202.HEIC" width="294" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;">Many of the snapshots were taken by photographers who would then sell them to the festival goers. In this sense these photographs become mementos of the festivities, and perhaps the novelty, of a carnival day. But there is a certain power contained in these mementos that lives on beyond the day of celebrations. The <i>Barabrella’s Kiss</i> exhibition made me think about how a temporary and elevated arena can provide a vital space for reimagining. In Ursula K Le Guin’s essay <i>A Non-Euclidean View of California as a Cold Place to Be </i>(1983), she refers to Robert C Elliott’s idea of participatory festivals as temporary utopian intervals, that sit outside of daily time. She talks about them summoning the ‘dreamed-of golden age of equality’ into the present lived world. This imaginative transformation, she says, prevents utopian thinking from forming into that ever-promised future, that dangerous rationalist dream that so easily becomes totalitarian. <o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQx-3Awsrz94R1rUR4hQlr9TE1XUhZ_zb5j64LfAE3AXv088xihnulT0_i25VZAeBdST_B_g4eD-P6N8k6NDDGVA_1jcyj-XUv2yXDRmqwUrz9EoM5tPXMgxXmwQzA6LmJNkmO9mntqcrBFmqfDDcRDGw5e-XJXbXYyawDLJict2Lf1mQTFx5TP8lMQ/s2609/BSK%203.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2609" data-original-width="2412" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQx-3Awsrz94R1rUR4hQlr9TE1XUhZ_zb5j64LfAE3AXv088xihnulT0_i25VZAeBdST_B_g4eD-P6N8k6NDDGVA_1jcyj-XUv2yXDRmqwUrz9EoM5tPXMgxXmwQzA6LmJNkmO9mntqcrBFmqfDDcRDGw5e-XJXbXYyawDLJict2Lf1mQTFx5TP8lMQ/w370-h400/BSK%203.HEIC" width="370" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;">In some of the photographs the performers are wearing traditional masks to protect their identity. In the later ones, the backdrops become more rural as the <span lang="EN-US">Las Chinas Morenas</span><span lang="EN-US"> </span>performers are forced out of the urban festivities, following their persecution after the fallout from that legendary kiss. Another change that happened after the kiss is that women were allowed to perform at the street carnivals, when previously they had been excluded. What is allowed within the confines of a carnival day is different from, yet has a real effect on, what happens outside of it. A line from Le Guin’s essay hangs in my mind: ‘the exiles from paradise in whom the hope of paradise lies’.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;">Jennifer Caroline Campbell</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg2DcPBg_tZydoTsuYusOUQhejWLVYAA0B1dUzyF0tkm0tUBglBZdOlH6k6H4sa2pGKnPQsIKVAheTY0DvIJ46wIN4MS8m1LTrNJAVw6vQd6k4xgLMyc8sHv6L6FRbMzMp23dQPivuJygoaZGXi_GF4MfwAAcE1-EAvg2jb4L-Ude-DSPSrSnLEA8uzA/s3479/BKS%204.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3479" data-original-width="2607" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg2DcPBg_tZydoTsuYusOUQhejWLVYAA0B1dUzyF0tkm0tUBglBZdOlH6k6H4sa2pGKnPQsIKVAheTY0DvIJ46wIN4MS8m1LTrNJAVw6vQd6k4xgLMyc8sHv6L6FRbMzMp23dQPivuJygoaZGXi_GF4MfwAAcE1-EAvg2jb4L-Ude-DSPSrSnLEA8uzA/w300-h400/BKS%204.heic" width="300" /></a></div><o:p> </o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm;"><i>Barbarellas Kiss</i> is at Auto Italia until the 11 June 2023. <o:p></o:p></p><br /><br /><br />An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-3468338190487080702023-05-22T13:11:00.002+01:002023-05-22T13:16:15.456+01:00Listening to Kesha's Gag Order<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><i>Rosemary Cronin feels the magic as she listens to a new album by American singer and songwriter Kesha</i></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-jK0cENKG1mMt9H8QpjXuimNXg8VK9RSKc2S8weTsjKM31u9zsUaeri6L0bMYqU2GTI2XxjFbmyvlkPjjHu1xQNdrDDJJJ8AX-kqDt7VUdmddHatffOBqm1cdyL_yRLupn0oVPfSqRGi2HmxdSq30xAl-WuNXXqY7BDGielzpmxxumiNVG2CHlcHkQ/s921/IMG_7606.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="921" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU-jK0cENKG1mMt9H8QpjXuimNXg8VK9RSKc2S8weTsjKM31u9zsUaeri6L0bMYqU2GTI2XxjFbmyvlkPjjHu1xQNdrDDJJJ8AX-kqDt7VUdmddHatffOBqm1cdyL_yRLupn0oVPfSqRGi2HmxdSq30xAl-WuNXXqY7BDGielzpmxxumiNVG2CHlcHkQ/s320/IMG_7606.jpeg" width="288" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-geRSJBuby7M4WwJf3tN16AWlPKGeHjxqqPMKt0n60WMVgf7y5uHmmIO9VLUPX5Xik-wqmvYuQoht4ye9w5C0hnWmhx6qfdctSWPqpPwhb3buJ8yGcxgnd-m7Gk6iYd3dDrrXJX36STnb0d-a13XZ5OwW-LaHycr4D24CONuOJHZmwkw1if2SX3B-iQ/s936/IMG_7607.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="936" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-geRSJBuby7M4WwJf3tN16AWlPKGeHjxqqPMKt0n60WMVgf7y5uHmmIO9VLUPX5Xik-wqmvYuQoht4ye9w5C0hnWmhx6qfdctSWPqpPwhb3buJ8yGcxgnd-m7Gk6iYd3dDrrXJX36STnb0d-a13XZ5OwW-LaHycr4D24CONuOJHZmwkw1if2SX3B-iQ/s320/IMG_7607.jpeg" width="283" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">I’m not sure if anyone else noticed the tiny white feather fall in front of the screen when the DJ pressed play on Kesha’s new album, <i>Gag Order</i>. I was at a listening party hosted by <i>Dazed</i>, and what felt straight off sermon-like unfolded into even more of an unexpectedly spiritual experience. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">The lyric booklets were lined on the benches, like prayer books on pews and we were bathed in red light. Kesha’s former works are not reflective of this reverence; instead she became known for her bubblegummy, brash and bold dance-pop hits like Tik Tok and Blah Blah Blah. But a quick read into her journey through stardom tells us that the ride has been bumpy, fast, furious and full to the brim with massive highs and crashing lows. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Like many women in the music industry, Kesha has been on a rollercoaster, turned back-to-front and upside down; and like a lot of her female counterparts the chaos has mainly been caused the men that have driven the career. Kesha’s visual creative collaborator for this album, Brian Roettinger, seems to have riffed off that energy but instead is a safe pair of hands to work with, and knowingly, respectfully works with the ethos of the singer’s new work. All the typography for the visual identity around the album echoes the mayhem of what the muse has been through; the typography laid out back-to-front, upside down, mirrored unexpectedly whilst still being recognisable. Perhaps we are used to our female musicians carrying this lived experience?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Everything is stripped back; from Kesha’s lack of makeup in the videos to producer Rick Rubin’s use of Kesha’s own voice notes together with Sunday service organ-esque keys as recorded elements within the finished album. There’s a lot of self-flagellation within the lyrics ‘You don’t wanna be changed like it changed me’ (Eat the Acid) and ‘There’s a fine line between what’s entertainin’ and what’s just exploiting the pain’ (Fine Line) and to real push the sacred envelope ‘it’s time I’m comin’ down off of the cross’ (Fine Line). At the mid-point we are gifted a Ram Dass interlude, with Kesha revealing that after being in treatment for bulimia she was given a copy of Dass’ seminal ‘Be Here Now’ and has carried it with her ever since. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">The album ends with the song Happy that samples a recording of a wizard friend (who doesn’t have a wizard friend nowadays?), saying ‘Sometimes you think you’re doing the magic and sometimes the magic is doing you’. At the launch party Kesha was there in an immaculate white dress with matching white kitten heels. With a radiant glow shining over her, she’s not been reborn, but there is a graceful vengeance in the album that has clearly rebuilt her over years of trauma, and she feels like she is carrying magic. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Although there is this spiritual side to the work, there are still tracks that are clearly made to end up as remixes on dancefloors. Kesha probably knows that these songs will be diced and spliced, chopped and changed – but this time it feels like she’s more in control than ever. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Rosemary Cronin</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Keisha, <i>Gag Order</i>, is available from all the usual music streaming platforms</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-28598629333737775382023-02-16T18:10:00.003+00:002023-02-16T18:17:19.380+00:00Up Close and Impersonal with Joseph Yaeger<p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alex Michon goes ‘eye-sight’ seeing, getting close to some canvases which on close inspection reveal a magical painterly alchemy.</span></i></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Visiting the Joseph Yaeger exhibition was a timely reminder about how paintings should be seen up close, in reality, and not just experienced in digital reproduction. His show at The Perimeter was a revelation, since being in front of them and seeing the way the paint was applied created a completely different reading from an initial view of the images online.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQmJvhh4FZpYr2upw6HiMYVZpsINcGF_a5nZpbr8ZyZ2vROOwffzHlsewNbz4JAs47FO0t-kU0H_YOFuZMaP5EQpj-Is6dsoiL4dVEatlVRSgtByAniPZaNHxyWqLh1RBUD7zyBzBVIRz6pZqHzYIhd0U8PhK6dSJFb5bgq9AGsTvxcS1Tw5URXryl_Q/s4032/IMG_5869.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQmJvhh4FZpYr2upw6HiMYVZpsINcGF_a5nZpbr8ZyZ2vROOwffzHlsewNbz4JAs47FO0t-kU0H_YOFuZMaP5EQpj-Is6dsoiL4dVEatlVRSgtByAniPZaNHxyWqLh1RBUD7zyBzBVIRz6pZqHzYIhd0U8PhK6dSJFb5bgq9AGsTvxcS1Tw5URXryl_Q/w400-h300/IMG_5869.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From those digital glances the paintings appeared to be very photo-realistic, kind of old school ‘proper painting’ which I found a bit meh! But when standing in front of them I discovered a curious incongruous messiness, a blurry ricky-tickiness which my painter friend explained was known in the vernacular as ‘painterly’. They were nothing short of magical. Some strange sloppy alchemy was at play, so that if you stood further away they seemed to hyper-realistic and intricately painted, while in close-up they revealed themselves to have a strange sort of splodgy unfinishedness which nevertheless made up a composite whole. What read as a shadow on a face when viewed a few meters away, up close was nothing short of a thin daub! They reminded me of standing up close to some of Goya’s paintings where a hand would appear as a kind of sketchy afterthought but when viewed from a distance was a perfectly acceptable rendition of a hand.</span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyIojH2yUz0QDlavFJBmyDNol5OdZAtNo2d1CKC2T_iicfQndjvCjaCHlL7SOd5cQa4d3fZLTlvWHvxZsVkj7_d7WR_SpbcydCj4b4VpgQXtYJfIN1mBsFIKcGrAQ_V37Ts2jJaIYq853u76lpKFfnTL0QvaldX3d7SBTE9gCVf7skE_qoWgoaxUWUg/s1795/FF5D5462-2940-4ECA-9478-0152C9D4818F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1795" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyIojH2yUz0QDlavFJBmyDNol5OdZAtNo2d1CKC2T_iicfQndjvCjaCHlL7SOd5cQa4d3fZLTlvWHvxZsVkj7_d7WR_SpbcydCj4b4VpgQXtYJfIN1mBsFIKcGrAQ_V37Ts2jJaIYq853u76lpKFfnTL0QvaldX3d7SBTE9gCVf7skE_qoWgoaxUWUg/s320/FF5D5462-2940-4ECA-9478-0152C9D4818F.jpeg" width="257" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yaeger is obviously a highly accomplished painter, but the paintings show that he treats accomplishment with the disdain it deserves. His paintings achieve their power by what seems like any means necessary. It reminded me of a Joan Didion quote where when describing her writing style, she said ‘Grammar is a piano I play by ear’. Yaeger appears to paint by instinct, with ‘appears’ being the operative word as there is obviously a sure tried and tested technique here. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now this is not some kind of luddite call to arms for technical perfection and I cannot remember any other exhibition which has left me waxing so lyrical about the artist’s painterly methods (save perhaps for the aforementioned Goya) but here the magical mash up between subject matter and application gelled into a kind of road to Damascus moment of the joy of looking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The title of the exhibition <i>Time Weft</i> hinted at some kind of temporal intention, yet the paintings’ narratives seemed disjointed, snatched glimpses from moments which had some kind of untold relevance. The artist states that ‘The imagery I use is a protracted search to better understand myself; playing or putting on roles that might clarify an interior that is sort of naturally hidden, even from myself.‘ There is certainly an element of filmic masquerading going on in the painting of a woman shielding her eyes, a man peering through oversized glasses, a hand holding out a pill.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTGI5ogEuw6i6ILpuvThVnF80_3ByCOLM5JfIsblOth3cqXrmdV1McYEIBW0WtgXDLIwUgOPp7qD26Ah1T8QNqs8W8F_9SGDR6X5WU_sXbUqwgZ_wrAHjTnimAxPl_98ouyczALfSJNku-tct2DwA2RKw9oIXwWQyN4IvVd3b73JS0XmBh0iBAdGgevg/s1795/5ED02707-82EF-40C4-B9A2-EBB565FEC508.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1795" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTGI5ogEuw6i6ILpuvThVnF80_3ByCOLM5JfIsblOth3cqXrmdV1McYEIBW0WtgXDLIwUgOPp7qD26Ah1T8QNqs8W8F_9SGDR6X5WU_sXbUqwgZ_wrAHjTnimAxPl_98ouyczALfSJNku-tct2DwA2RKw9oIXwWQyN4IvVd3b73JS0XmBh0iBAdGgevg/w321-h400/5ED02707-82EF-40C4-B9A2-EBB565FEC508.jpeg" width="321" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Didion, whose works I had been discussing with my friend on our way to the show, cast a ghostly shadow over my reading of the images. There was an undefinable just out of reach Americana quality to the paintings (Yaeger is American) and like Didion’s prose they seemed coolly detached whilst at the same time emotionally resonant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yaeger, I found on further research, is being touted as a new art star in the art firmament. No matter, the paintings are a joy to behold, stories which need to be seen viscerally from the distance of a few inches back and then studied again to appreciate their subtle sleight of hand enchantments. </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alex Michon</span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcO3WwCEq0-2rtn6wPDUmcyFgnLR22uTgh9FVt8LKtuTDjBuP6iW4Ut7BydSxIrxttCS88d-RHbOkXzARarf6c4VtofwncDVg6qCKyYIY_FOso_GktoWpskMFUe42lHeaxlM7QnW8hxeE1RDSOuw7xFVFy6NrHvSmNZ9KKWjCARf-0uteKfczAuHoesQ/s1795/B62E9855-E6C0-4E15-AD79-F8178FF63AA9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1795" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcO3WwCEq0-2rtn6wPDUmcyFgnLR22uTgh9FVt8LKtuTDjBuP6iW4Ut7BydSxIrxttCS88d-RHbOkXzARarf6c4VtofwncDVg6qCKyYIY_FOso_GktoWpskMFUe42lHeaxlM7QnW8hxeE1RDSOuw7xFVFy6NrHvSmNZ9KKWjCARf-0uteKfczAuHoesQ/w321-h400/B62E9855-E6C0-4E15-AD79-F8178FF63AA9.jpeg" width="321" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Joseph Yeager: <i>Time Weft</i></span><p></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Perimeter</span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">London</span></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Until 18 February 2023</span></span></p>An Artisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03716310218000729574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-27234079143495617972023-01-25T15:53:00.004+00:002023-01-25T15:57:24.864+00:00The Less than Familiar Cezanne<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Cathy Lomax takes another look at Cezanne's paintings</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">I find it hard to look at Cezanne landscapes and still lives. All those apples, oranges, green fields, and blue skies merge into what has become a horrible cliché. I have seen them so often my eyes are bored. I know this is sacrilege and that Cezanne is a genius, but over-exposure can be a terrible thing. So it was with little excitement that I went to see the latest iteration of the Cezanne blockbuster at Tate Modern, and I was only there because as a Tate member it was free.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllmSvmnpTK3DtP8og3W_qCWVLwOFxujQYOSZ2x7XY7aXHCxeQiy2H7NElONvOvxL5pEbcFhPvfFc86ObDtIGIlMrxfgVOKKSXAXhV6BumLAIi6Doui1Eg-kX4ClSrsNOnrWKCkOMJmTh9HCn6QlQhwj1ciRq_jUgl0Vcnv_-JQcrsT233ZqUp4-AgLA/s3035/B50ECE76-4299-4F0F-AA79-8D364F5D94EA_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3035" data-original-width="2405" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllmSvmnpTK3DtP8og3W_qCWVLwOFxujQYOSZ2x7XY7aXHCxeQiy2H7NElONvOvxL5pEbcFhPvfFc86ObDtIGIlMrxfgVOKKSXAXhV6BumLAIi6Doui1Eg-kX4ClSrsNOnrWKCkOMJmTh9HCn6QlQhwj1ciRq_jUgl0Vcnv_-JQcrsT233ZqUp4-AgLA/w318-h400/B50ECE76-4299-4F0F-AA79-8D364F5D94EA_1_201_a.heic" width="318" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Madame Cezanne in a Red Armchair</i>, c.1877, oi on canvas</span></td></tr></tbody></table><i><br /></i><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p>What I discovered is that I love his portraits. The hints of smudgy red, the pleasingly undetailed grumpy faces of his models shadowed in blues and greens. <i>Madame Cezanne in a Red Armchair</i>, 1877 is a stunning painting. The complete lack of consideration for the humanity of Mme Cezanne who is merely part of the composition is fascinating – the blue bow, the greens in her striped skirt, the enveloping red of the armchair, the checkerboard shadows on her face, the gold green of the wall – all are perfectly balanced. I have seen <i>Madame Cezanne</i> before, notably at a show of Cezanne portraits at the National Portrait Gallery in 2018, but some of the other works with figures are new to me. For instance <i>The Murder</i> (which comes with a trigger warning) which shows two men violently attacking the prone body of a women, the limbs of one of the murderers are brightly illuminated against a subfusc deep blue/green sky. It’s dark and nasty, more Manet than Cezanne. </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4s_aCo1lTRNCe3zTypov0mRj6KmXKbhmqU66jmvDDXut0v6UYSKDZJWzP_Qqk9tjMKwCnfQanybRqGzspxIBM-Zcgr2Je8yiA_EC0705UCbspNxFVaRWzeJqbOFL9cCqn-Z-SUUWtYBwmbxShSZMpo_THcrkTqE_GCqd5infMmLgmtrl1_1DqstsN1w/s2457/DAC9992E-7C68-4AE3-980C-B316FB069518_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2357" data-original-width="2457" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4s_aCo1lTRNCe3zTypov0mRj6KmXKbhmqU66jmvDDXut0v6UYSKDZJWzP_Qqk9tjMKwCnfQanybRqGzspxIBM-Zcgr2Je8yiA_EC0705UCbspNxFVaRWzeJqbOFL9cCqn-Z-SUUWtYBwmbxShSZMpo_THcrkTqE_GCqd5infMmLgmtrl1_1DqstsN1w/w400-h384/DAC9992E-7C68-4AE3-980C-B316FB069518_1_201_a.heic" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The Murder</i>, 1870, oil on canva</span>s</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p>The portrait of Black Academie Suisse model Scipio (which was owned by Monet) is, unlike Mme Cezanne, bathed in humanity. The caption describes how Cezanne would have been familiar with debates around enslavement, and it’s easy to read the seeming exhausted Scipio, his long lean back turned out as he rests his weary head against his arm, as a political comment. At a quick glance it would be easy to mistake this painting for one of Lynette Yiadom Boakye’s enigmatic portraits of fictitious Black subjects. </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-rOeZNX5LjyLzrnz0lhpbQ4qeG545Ay7KEcW-RpdZ1yIq8PAgZdArYtqU8CAfIuu-QXYjoKNQus7ILs4jTtOGnQ2CotXJjGrQGyclB9lfTNdPSAMAmVIMPGUhiCwIgqe8Wc5IcNsaitZKh6m6zCDkQ77pFFA_FvhgoVXd1xdRHlTB7sKAiqEOTAI7w/s2643/7D21042C-5B2D-4CB3-8372-6FAE03AFB671_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2643" data-original-width="2118" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-rOeZNX5LjyLzrnz0lhpbQ4qeG545Ay7KEcW-RpdZ1yIq8PAgZdArYtqU8CAfIuu-QXYjoKNQus7ILs4jTtOGnQ2CotXJjGrQGyclB9lfTNdPSAMAmVIMPGUhiCwIgqe8Wc5IcNsaitZKh6m6zCDkQ77pFFA_FvhgoVXd1xdRHlTB7sKAiqEOTAI7w/w320-h400/7D21042C-5B2D-4CB3-8372-6FAE03AFB671_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Scipio</i>, 1867</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p><br /></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p>Alongside this masterful spare portrait are some fussy small works depicting boxy female nudes. The most interesting of these <i>The Eternal Feminine</i>, 1877, has a loosely painted women, with red blobs for eyes, lying naked on a bed, surrounded by men – there could be photographers amongst the crowd, but a bit of research reveals them as writers, lawyers, and a painter. </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR25WNz2PvN-WS6u_TWKI5GZ53KK1I8Ac1k6QGDWqhwFo1c0GVEFP-u0f_OI9TTx05-fdjoNrJLt43fe9im_Oje2utdsI0-fHq74cxSe5dM8cwT59nI2QfFB-pWTduhtt-f5zapPKQhrk_N-ia3eufEashnQ78LDfUxWuFaYzRTQMTRcgrs9dNkTN4gA/s3164/B0542825-6CB9-4C56-BD9C-9A96E8ADF8DE_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3164" data-original-width="2850" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR25WNz2PvN-WS6u_TWKI5GZ53KK1I8Ac1k6QGDWqhwFo1c0GVEFP-u0f_OI9TTx05-fdjoNrJLt43fe9im_Oje2utdsI0-fHq74cxSe5dM8cwT59nI2QfFB-pWTduhtt-f5zapPKQhrk_N-ia3eufEashnQ78LDfUxWuFaYzRTQMTRcgrs9dNkTN4gA/w360-h400/B0542825-6CB9-4C56-BD9C-9A96E8ADF8DE_1_201_a.heic" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The Eternal Feminine</i>, c.1877, oil on canvas</span></td></tr></tbody></table><o:p><br /></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My favourite works are two versions of <i>Portrait of the Artist’s Son</i>. The first from 1880 shows the boy against a background of Cezanne’s characteristic undulating blue scrubbed with swatches of green. This colour is reflected in the shadows on the face. The rather lumpish shape of the figure is balanced by the flattened curved top of an armchair which is rendered in shades of aubergine. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMCWUtciWHGbtA84xgUiiWZhi1e3ghKOu7mmjDZFNlh8avRVoUBE73J76009Wp9uJC3Y7ehPMTpBbetdJAiM2WXMCTv2ZoiUifgy9JBiXvs6tFaHatH9E97zSlQJb54iq5bSubjys7ZyqsxFqH7XPz1k7hwAM_U5jb8DzzfJwE63_f7wJXaHL0wnxHg/s3443/FD09D249-C502-4F09-8D0E-AD7ADBB9743B_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3443" data-original-width="2973" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSMCWUtciWHGbtA84xgUiiWZhi1e3ghKOu7mmjDZFNlh8avRVoUBE73J76009Wp9uJC3Y7ehPMTpBbetdJAiM2WXMCTv2ZoiUifgy9JBiXvs6tFaHatH9E97zSlQJb54iq5bSubjys7ZyqsxFqH7XPz1k7hwAM_U5jb8DzzfJwE63_f7wJXaHL0wnxHg/w345-h400/FD09D249-C502-4F09-8D0E-AD7ADBB9743B_1_201_a.heic" width="345" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Portrait of the Artist's Son</i>, 1880, oil on canvas</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The second <i>Portrait of the Artist’s Son</i>, 1881-2, is unfinished. The boy’s head is tilted towards the left, his eyelids lowered. The dark blue/grey background is scratchy, and the whitish primer shows through. Either side of the head are untidy patches of aubergine/brown which recede to allow the face to stand out. The patchwork of colours that make the face are comprised (in common with other Cezanne works) of short diagonal brush strokes. The portrait is tender and moving. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPT5HUiyT7VRgbdbiYn9ylEPZLI-V5yY69jzFOcxPZDoZQvouFJj-q9BMXCyTV9Reo2poIAPe7MUHwTKm1id8q7XfYRDY4T4zUi7xOrpYrGH4aj1yiAp8Auq10upOh9gghrwVUH21vzV7bH88N4SHrxn3i5VFXCBC331rOiARleEyyDYcZTgrR9cwS0A/s2113/398996A0-69A6-46D0-9B19-DA0B890B5A67_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2108" data-original-width="2113" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPT5HUiyT7VRgbdbiYn9ylEPZLI-V5yY69jzFOcxPZDoZQvouFJj-q9BMXCyTV9Reo2poIAPe7MUHwTKm1id8q7XfYRDY4T4zUi7xOrpYrGH4aj1yiAp8Auq10upOh9gghrwVUH21vzV7bH88N4SHrxn3i5VFXCBC331rOiARleEyyDYcZTgrR9cwS0A/w400-h398/398996A0-69A6-46D0-9B19-DA0B890B5A67_1_201_a.heic" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Portrait of the Artist's Son</i>, 1881-2, oil on canvas</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All the works I have described are hung on a brownish/purple wall – a colour snatched from Cezanne’s use of a similar aubergine-like tone in the paintings of his son. And it works beautifully.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I guess the moral is to look rather than assume you know an artist’s work! </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cathy Lomax</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">January 2023</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Cezanne</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tate Modern, London</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">until 12 March 2023</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-83587920846572638832022-12-26T16:00:00.018+00:002022-12-28T12:18:50.502+00:00 A Darkling Dive into Dystopian DIY Remembrance <p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><i>Cathy Lomax and Alex Michon are haunted by the art and socio-political British culture (and disappointed by the omissions) in The Horror Show! at Somerset House.</i></span><span style="line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0AW4sGMV2ecpK-3L1VLY2T7p7NULX0q4qGp9duVeRrKsqkGPscSBhDqIwyhmkHa8ujKQAQ58LeW4zUglAhPdBVQ-f0QrkoKbCBAmW7LwqayFdcRjy-YGvf9z5I9VN8f8mp2NYFnxOB5y9tVm67c3EDDkuJ96P5hGheDU_2GKxmM66ejSYJJwr0GFnQ/s3797/CF3D3737-ECF6-4022-80E7-8AB693D37AB2_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3797" data-original-width="2587" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0AW4sGMV2ecpK-3L1VLY2T7p7NULX0q4qGp9duVeRrKsqkGPscSBhDqIwyhmkHa8ujKQAQ58LeW4zUglAhPdBVQ-f0QrkoKbCBAmW7LwqayFdcRjy-YGvf9z5I9VN8f8mp2NYFnxOB5y9tVm67c3EDDkuJ96P5hGheDU_2GKxmM66ejSYJJwr0GFnQ/w271-h400/CF3D3737-ECF6-4022-80E7-8AB693D37AB2_1_201_a.heic" width="271" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Leigh Bowery, Hooded Cape Ensemble, 1988</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;">In the week in which the death of Terry Hall of The Specials was announced, we went off to see <i>The Horror Show!</i> at Somerset House. Billed as a ‘Twisted Tale of Modern Britain', this blockbuster of a show explores how ‘ideas rooted in horror have informed the last 50 years of creative rebellion’, and there is a lot to absorb in this multi-layered ghost train ride of shapeshifting schlock-horror aesthetics. From the now familiar </span><i><span lang="FR" style="line-height: 24px;">dernier cri</span></i><i><span lang="FR" style="line-height: 24px;"> </span></i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span>of punk to the darkly fantastical works of 2019 Turner Prize winner Tai Shani; ghosts, ghouls, mysticism, and mayhem feature as a continuing rebellious thread throughout various landscapes of the dark re-imaginings of artistic psyches. </span></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHY6jOEWh_K1YzEtjRlkx_Tzp3fqOna8pIDjcFRfrVYdwyl4_oz08N-B_c6_mOgAgKJW7XFXPgFDX6bF-R-GnG_aDeeU83sYcfundlYxRruj--PR-PaWPqLoe8_NCMZ5WK4VWRFjG6cKtri7qLSOKUcXCOLOkY6odGSikJRGoAKxNWxwXOmPpWwHrKmw/s2721/E9BFE22B-4252-4031-B4C7-C2BB9D2E396B_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2686" data-original-width="2721" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHY6jOEWh_K1YzEtjRlkx_Tzp3fqOna8pIDjcFRfrVYdwyl4_oz08N-B_c6_mOgAgKJW7XFXPgFDX6bF-R-GnG_aDeeU83sYcfundlYxRruj--PR-PaWPqLoe8_NCMZ5WK4VWRFjG6cKtri7qLSOKUcXCOLOkY6odGSikJRGoAKxNWxwXOmPpWwHrKmw/w400-h395/E9BFE22B-4252-4031-B4C7-C2BB9D2E396B_1_201_a.heic" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Tai Shani, <i>The Neon </i></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Hieroglyp</i>h, 2021</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So here we have punk icon Jordan, painted by the underrepresented 70s painter and Duggie Fields contemporary Luciana Marinez, next to a Diamond Dog Bowie. Elsewhere there is a wall of large-scale images of Bat Cave clubsters in their gothy new romantic get ups, and a succession of outrageously attired drag artists sashaying down the stairs in Dick Jewell’s film <i>Descending a Staircase </i>which was shot at the seminal Kinky Gerlinky club night. </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_pdw1xFNq3tGuiwcLzsJt7zwXAXQEJ4t7YNvpTIHqduwvVklV64j1A2g1vKG3TxHEmw5dNhazHvIEjQDRUtWrguMhQl_VulG7OhPzSZZD0SgJRdDR1a_ndwTnE75Q_KauVtzEuSlbnQjZC6BQgV_HBoSm7as8OAd2uKlfrfG1ra_Ql60PbwNTLKNSg/s2968/31A1876B-9D51-4003-BF11-B4E550E384BD_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2968" data-original-width="2076" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_pdw1xFNq3tGuiwcLzsJt7zwXAXQEJ4t7YNvpTIHqduwvVklV64j1A2g1vKG3TxHEmw5dNhazHvIEjQDRUtWrguMhQl_VulG7OhPzSZZD0SgJRdDR1a_ndwTnE75Q_KauVtzEuSlbnQjZC6BQgV_HBoSm7as8OAd2uKlfrfG1ra_Ql60PbwNTLKNSg/w279-h400/31A1876B-9D51-4003-BF11-B4E550E384BD_1_201_a.heic" width="279" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Luciana Martinez de la Rosa,<i> Jordan</i>, 1977, pastel on boar</span>d</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;">The show is in three parts, Monster, Ghost and Witch. Monster is the punky, gothy, drag queeny, Leigh Bowery section. Ghost, as the gallery blurb states, ‘marks the collapse of hyperinflated 80s culture… defining a turning point in time between the dawn of a digital age of faceless audiences and invisible cyber wars’. So this is where Tricky’s trip hop meets the situationist sub-texts of Laura Grace Ford who reimagines London as a haunted house in her large-scale installation. Witch, </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">the exhibition’s final act,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>celebrates the emergence of a younger generation often placing their work alongside their antecedents –Juno Calypso, for instance, is offset by Jane Arden. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;">Each section is introduced by panels of engaging text which underscore the work with pertinent sociopolitical and metaphysical musings.<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: 11pt; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim0qgjwRF31p_H3_SvpbXiU5HLSDF3mL5HddWGDbsvUX0r5aHPyM7fsGl3YilW-_F4vFn-MJGrCKFULyzU4BinaKZE3Dn91UCP8iLcGvLQQTrTfjgoJlsubn4Mz0QT-WpP1xW0n-Riao5Bc9_uHzq9Pf512LcemR9LQeJMx1aVJRUBGppuJ1Z3ov1mlw/s2943/2F286299-9A17-4145-9BB5-BA9D2EC61BB7_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2226" data-original-width="2943" height="485" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim0qgjwRF31p_H3_SvpbXiU5HLSDF3mL5HddWGDbsvUX0r5aHPyM7fsGl3YilW-_F4vFn-MJGrCKFULyzU4BinaKZE3Dn91UCP8iLcGvLQQTrTfjgoJlsubn4Mz0QT-WpP1xW0n-Riao5Bc9_uHzq9Pf512LcemR9LQeJMx1aVJRUBGppuJ1Z3ov1mlw/w640-h485/2F286299-9A17-4145-9BB5-BA9D2EC61BB7_1_201_a.heic" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Juno Calypso, <i>A Dream in Green</i>, 2015</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: 11pt; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQ3fQz3pcaBczI45PVQBThRhhQorO6h6hVded-UjwHmLwKrotHQV9f78IBdVJsz6sse6cmxkbAd7FwRoAS9oTSGaK2p43sZPhm5sZSMoJ796rG9ly_GGpbBChSRG4vMkrUK68tWSo8_siJXxcPVaW6AhDIgRc3B6GcaJOj-dN_r1fUKcCE1tbLsBerA/s3265/8AADA83D-DA28-4BDE-9CE1-B2EBAAF9C82E_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3265" data-original-width="2206" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQ3fQz3pcaBczI45PVQBThRhhQorO6h6hVded-UjwHmLwKrotHQV9f78IBdVJsz6sse6cmxkbAd7FwRoAS9oTSGaK2p43sZPhm5sZSMoJ796rG9ly_GGpbBChSRG4vMkrUK68tWSo8_siJXxcPVaW6AhDIgRc3B6GcaJOj-dN_r1fUKcCE1tbLsBerA/w270-h400/8AADA83D-DA28-4BDE-9CE1-B2EBAAF9C82E_1_201_a.heic" width="270" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Jane Arden, <i>Vagina Rex and the Gas Oven</i> poster, 1970-71, designed by Alan Aldridge</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However as is so often the case in an ambitious show of this size there are shortcomings and omissions, and the interesting countercultural perspective was, for us, almost inevitably haunted by the phantoms of those who were not featured. We particularly missed the visceral multi-faceted work of Delaine Le Bas whose outsider perspective has often called out racism, hierarchy, and refugee and women shaming. The same applies to the horror-inflected films and performances of Paul Kindersley, with their current-day queer eye. And surely the very British DIY filmmaker Andrew Kotting, whose films include <i>Diseased and Disorderly</i> and <i>Their Rancid Words Stagnate Our Ponds</i>, would have been a perfect fit. As would something of the English art folk horror investigated by Michael Bracewell in the <i>The Dark Monarch</i>, a show he co-curated at Tate St Ives in 2009.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;">It is obvious that the curators worked hard to create a non-hierarchical overview of the influence of spooky stuff to scare the nation. But the bones of those skeletons still left in the unopened cupboard continued to rattle around our brains and as we exited the gift shop we couldn’t help but think of Terry Hall’s plaintive voice singing</span><b><i><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"> </span></i></b><b><i><span style="line-height: 24px;">‘</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">this town is coming like a ghost town’… a line that links the now and then so perfectly but like the majority of post-punk was sadly absent from the gallery.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 24px;">Cathy Lomax & Alex Michon, 2022</span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: 11pt; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSdk68kCtF18Ryzh0D2d5gzlxybbrkVpiJIfKZhRx1i65zCOXN4zyUFvLaHSUddZXAmhXxmRxZyhjm9f8BtLz6aPNUGldoY8ByCLFyPTrCixWlwI6ldYd-QMfSvepBfa3WeGiewPW2V4SJIaRXigDw_mZWpU6MzQAdtqImuiA2xcKroIeq4c7RsnXKQ/s3772/627B8E7E-4DC7-4609-A6E7-6FA2928D85DE_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3772" data-original-width="2942" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSdk68kCtF18Ryzh0D2d5gzlxybbrkVpiJIfKZhRx1i65zCOXN4zyUFvLaHSUddZXAmhXxmRxZyhjm9f8BtLz6aPNUGldoY8ByCLFyPTrCixWlwI6ldYd-QMfSvepBfa3WeGiewPW2V4SJIaRXigDw_mZWpU6MzQAdtqImuiA2xcKroIeq4c7RsnXKQ/w313-h400/627B8E7E-4DC7-4609-A6E7-6FA2928D85DE_1_201_a.heic" width="313" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Entrance to <i>The</i> </span><i>Horror </i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Show!</i> at Somerset House </span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The Horror Show!</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Somerset House, London</span></div><span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 24px;">27 October 2022 - 19 February 2023</span></span><p></p><p class="BodyA" style="border: none; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-45749913010543767622022-12-14T12:06:00.007+00:002022-12-14T12:10:25.095+00:00Feelings For Fenella<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><i>Alex Michon visits <span lang="EN-US">an exhibition</span><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span lang="EN-US">of paintings of the British </span>actress<span lang="EN-US"> Fenella Fielding</span><span lang="EN-US"> </span>and finds herself in a <span lang="EN-US">thoughtful </span>frame of mind<span lang="EN-US">.</span></i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Contemplative <span lang="EN-US">– </span>that was the curious feeling that overcame me when I visited <i>Fenella Fielding</i><span lang="EN-US"><i>: Actress</i>, an </span>exhibition of paintings at Gallery 286. Fielding<span lang="EN-US">,</span><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span lang="EN-US">who is maybe </span>best known for her <span lang="EN-US">role in</span> <i>Carry On</i><span lang="EN-US"><i> Screaming!</i> (1966)</span>, was also a serious actress <span lang="EN-US">with a </span>deep husky voice and sensual <span lang="EN-US">demeanour</span>. In the exhibition Fielding stares out at the viewer from a variety of portraits by the artists<span lang="EN-US">, </span>Natalie Dowse, Sal Jones, Cathy Lomax<span lang="EN-US">,</span> Jeanette Watkins and Fionn Wilson <span lang="EN-US">(</span>who was also the show’s curator<span lang="EN-US">)</span>. Each of the artists had captured a different fascinating facet of Fenella in all her <span lang="EN-US">19</span>60s film star glamour. It was therefore disconcerting that I should feel contemplative. It was as if the paintings were thinking at me! Or perhaps it was that the actress was trying to reveal some unknown secret from her past through paint. <span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTwNeuf14qNXqMpkyCEeZtpd72MQbKw8lrfcfnOjcAQS5TyvvtowNNnAM2BmNspYER7fLpDbXmqASFga621-8CgMelduj0gQWZmU0etCDltdA8OjuMygUD2hFSvmsWS3IOlt_SYhYH9Bqhcw7KELqqof-vceYP5Kdt83Y5JxtVxv59QuV3617xp2vtRg/s1448/Natalie-Dowse-Do-You-Mind-If-I-Smoke-1-oil-on-linen-40-x-40-cm-2021.jpg.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1448" data-original-width="1448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTwNeuf14qNXqMpkyCEeZtpd72MQbKw8lrfcfnOjcAQS5TyvvtowNNnAM2BmNspYER7fLpDbXmqASFga621-8CgMelduj0gQWZmU0etCDltdA8OjuMygUD2hFSvmsWS3IOlt_SYhYH9Bqhcw7KELqqof-vceYP5Kdt83Y5JxtVxv59QuV3617xp2vtRg/w400-h400/Natalie-Dowse-Do-You-Mind-If-I-Smoke-1-oil-on-linen-40-x-40-cm-2021.jpg.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Natalie Dowse, <i>Do You Mind If I Smoke 1</i>, 2021, oil on linen, 40x40cm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Natalie Dowse’s dreamy tight closeups are enigmatic and sort of sorrowful. I read in the show notes that Dowse played an audio copy of the <span lang="EN-US">Fielding’s</span> book <i>Do you Mind if I smoke?</i> over and over again whilst she was painting. Ah and there it is! Dowse describes this as ‘a contemplative experience’. So perhaps I have inadvertently picked up on this at the show.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHSVQFBKQTajiXg0VzAmCCXT1YbKr_oR_qGTmPEakXPQS3BGPG6pKQr8dloA7f4XcTI5QhJ2DWLPOuRh74XhyAE1PvWRj_6Kdns-lekyrDFgNkYZqmhmljJqN--mNPhG8rxDvvawmM2EsCZbDSJ_97sXJiN8cAHFvZi-z_eYc-xwKRdilrBmwk6lYVvg/s1591/Sal%20Jones.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1591" data-original-width="1317" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHSVQFBKQTajiXg0VzAmCCXT1YbKr_oR_qGTmPEakXPQS3BGPG6pKQr8dloA7f4XcTI5QhJ2DWLPOuRh74XhyAE1PvWRj_6Kdns-lekyrDFgNkYZqmhmljJqN--mNPhG8rxDvvawmM2EsCZbDSJ_97sXJiN8cAHFvZi-z_eYc-xwKRdilrBmwk6lYVvg/w528-h640/Sal%20Jones.jpg" width="528" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sal Jones, <i>Devastating Darling</i>, 2021, oil on canvas, 60x50cm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Sal Jones writes that she had ‘wanted to paint (Fenella’s) voice<span lang="EN-US">’</span> – her presence, her humour and style. In <i>Devastating Darling</i> she has used a <span lang="EN-US">montage</span> of images of the actress infused with the glamour of 1960s fashion. The added text with its tongue in cheek humour captures the effervescent nature of Fenella as we would like to remember her, all high camp and knowing sexiness. However in amongst the glamour, Jones has included typical 1960s ‘hospital colours’ and as she writes <span lang="EN-US">‘</span>bed textiles<span lang="EN-US">’, </span>as some of the images are taken from the film <i>Doctor in Clover</i>. I love the idea of ‘hospital colours<span lang="EN-US">’</span> and <span lang="EN-US">‘</span>bed textiles’ as they summon up all the slap and tickle, of the hospital <i>Carry On</i>s which serve as incongruous <span lang="EN-US">signifiers of</span> a heartfelt socialist dream of a fully funded idealistic Nation Health Service.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDbJtkrKY5DrscyHsQ5PO4tdwM19iIOx2vw3qpXWiMc4GNIMgNYay0DgXLSQay4Lw4AnA4BFHjqHn8HxmGo4DdF2pWafjXFUAf0T5lr5uxwB08jhadK_blydksHXix-zu1cZvuDqUSSUlcT67cF5jkBIbh4irA0mv5kvA743Luufc5k6dW6reXQ8nNQ/s1000/Shadow_Cathy_Lomax.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="1000" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDbJtkrKY5DrscyHsQ5PO4tdwM19iIOx2vw3qpXWiMc4GNIMgNYay0DgXLSQay4Lw4AnA4BFHjqHn8HxmGo4DdF2pWafjXFUAf0T5lr5uxwB08jhadK_blydksHXix-zu1cZvuDqUSSUlcT67cF5jkBIbh4irA0mv5kvA743Luufc5k6dW6reXQ8nNQ/w640-h424/Shadow_Cathy_Lomax.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cathy Lomax, <i>Shadow</i>, 2020, oil on linen 40x60cm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Cathy Lomax’s portraits are inspired by two inspirational visits to Fielding’s flat where Lomax was struck by the actress’s vast collection off wigs and makeup products particularly numerous boxes of <span lang="EN-US">false</span> lashes. Lomax used the makeup as the starting point ‘layering images, just as makeup is layered on the face’. In <i>Shadow</i><span lang="EN-US">,</span> the fake eyelashes are particularly <span lang="EN-US">prominent,</span> a <span lang="EN-US">flesh-coloured</span> circle highlights the eye, an eyeshadow <span lang="EN-US">palette</span> has become a searchlight on Fenella’s face. Her melancholic side gaze belying the performative made-up-ness of, as Lomax states, ‘actorly femininity’. Fenella does not look at us, instead she looks to the side, as if weary of masquerading. Here the actress looks as if she is lon<span lang="EN-US">g</span>ing to be in one of those Russian plays where everyone goes off to the country and is very bored! </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3jxLSEQEvW9lfzvagteWfC0w00b7EHOpo5c1w1QdhcLdaPX_WBHatFg-npyknXD8jwAlPOo6o6DlWz1FTwbJ0dR1hhJ8bpEZ3cxrtPbbtsEmjfO5U-ETyrY_MPBIUyP4bh5kydj1dN3-AvCSmBePvzajpsXgslxfkSnOjiz6VeCVOCtplxftvV6J1g/s1037/Jeanette-Watkins-A-Day-with-Cecil-Beaton-Ready-or-Not-linen-on-cradled-panel-30-x-30-cm-2022-1_web.jpg.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1037" data-original-width="1037" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3jxLSEQEvW9lfzvagteWfC0w00b7EHOpo5c1w1QdhcLdaPX_WBHatFg-npyknXD8jwAlPOo6o6DlWz1FTwbJ0dR1hhJ8bpEZ3cxrtPbbtsEmjfO5U-ETyrY_MPBIUyP4bh5kydj1dN3-AvCSmBePvzajpsXgslxfkSnOjiz6VeCVOCtplxftvV6J1g/w400-h400/Jeanette-Watkins-A-Day-with-Cecil-Beaton-Ready-or-Not-linen-on-cradled-panel-30-x-30-cm-2022-1_web.jpg.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jeanette Watkins, <i>A Day With Cecil Beaton, Ready or Not</i>, 2022, linen on cradled panel, 30x30cm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Jeanette Watkins has painted the actress from a society photograph taken by Cecil Beaton. Her Fenella is the least glamorous. Fenella peeps from behind the frame of her arms which are covering her head. The tones of the painting are muted and subtle and it seems to catch Fenella off guard, un-actressy. There is a touch Bloomsbury intelligen<span lang="EN-US">ts</span>ia about the portrait and it perhaps hints at a more serious side.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnKHlw9ozV5BT4XQM_-zqRyDe0sIFsHr9u0MNCZg8gYlSDT5fDCNRMaOSrajFV9lIWiGVkGritg6spKHdHjdK3TGWwZUS_UpuG4qMBDZhTMKaE0RtyRLkoi2hSjxMnRloB4X_5TBoJ6HJIE9vcILUJjdN0indPLRX6LdcYfAI-VnRdZ7WeJ9bHmx8Ag/s1232/Fionn-Wilson-Fenella-as-Colette-1970-heavy-body-acrylic-on-canvas-60-x-50-cm-2022_web.jpg.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="1032" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnKHlw9ozV5BT4XQM_-zqRyDe0sIFsHr9u0MNCZg8gYlSDT5fDCNRMaOSrajFV9lIWiGVkGritg6spKHdHjdK3TGWwZUS_UpuG4qMBDZhTMKaE0RtyRLkoi2hSjxMnRloB4X_5TBoJ6HJIE9vcILUJjdN0indPLRX6LdcYfAI-VnRdZ7WeJ9bHmx8Ag/w335-h400/Fionn-Wilson-Fenella-as-Colette-1970-heavy-body-acrylic-on-canvas-60-x-50-cm-2022_web.jpg.webp" width="335" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fionn Wilson, <i>Fenella as Collette 1970</i>, 2022, heavy body acrylic on canvas, 60x50cm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Fionn Wilson’s portraits are the most theatrical. Momentary vignettes that are powerful and dynamic. In one Fenella stares out from the painting wearing a black and white <span lang="EN-US">P</span>ierrot<span lang="EN-US">-</span>like spotty collar. She is holding an <span lang="EN-US">old-fashioned</span> phone, her face is framed by her lustrous black hair, her thick black lashes circle her troubled eyes. The painting is like a silent mime, with Fenella as a trouble pierrette enacting a tragedy we can only imagine.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Alex Michon</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Fenella Fielding: Actress </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Gallery </span>286, <span lang="EN-US">286 </span>Earl’s Court Rd, <span lang="EN-US">London </span>SW5</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">9 November – 18 December 2022</span><br /><br clear="all" style="break-before: page;" /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-73785730530032316602022-07-20T12:23:00.006+01:002022-07-26T17:31:17.402+01:00Atmospheric touches were given in flax <p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: right;"><i>A Dreamy summertime visit to see Lewis Brander's haptic skyscape paintings</i></span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: right;"><br /></span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: right;">Tell me about the Athenian sky</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 34.85pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">It is pure and wide. So blue it almost scares me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 70.85pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 70.85pt; text-align: right;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">[sublime]<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 70.85pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 34.85pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">With clouds placed to laugh at us. They make us believe we are not alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">---<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">My own memories of Greece (Athens and Majorca) are foggy. Years have passed since fun work and post-teen trips, so I cast an eye to my Insta archive hoping to conjure some hazy rememberings. Some abstract form found in the recesses of my recollection. But nothing much appears. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Estelle, my Athenian runaway, tell me about the Athenian sky [please]. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">As wafts of dust drift on the wind, big city meets sky and makes it it's own. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">It's puzzling how this big city is made by yet holds the sky. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt; text-align: right;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">There is grace in this touch:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt; text-align: right;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> Matter caressing/caressed by sky, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt; text-align: right;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">by blue, recollections taking form in oily washes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt; text-align: right;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">No slick sheen. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt; text-align: right;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">It's hazy, it's haptic.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">The Athenian sky, framed by olive branches and TV antenna, by the walls of an ancient theatre and by clothes drying in the open.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: right;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Framed, not fixed, not captured.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: right;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Evacuated, transparent, invisible. So whole.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfoYhl0Kf6Nbnl7NaVGJQkIrf5LYw8aL3mBwrL3IzX06mp3XU3otQrXjcifs1ny7DkIeYVS6fyj1-Gb5CVDn3q8ufNnXjpH6ApHHgzr1MlXeRCg4Mm7cEWWtmQdWNbvPGRpBJgPzkaDyKknF4OTt308RRCEpySoHLZB2wjWxTwtSqOWCrdLtKfDfI9g/s1080/LW%201%20install%20.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfoYhl0Kf6Nbnl7NaVGJQkIrf5LYw8aL3mBwrL3IzX06mp3XU3otQrXjcifs1ny7DkIeYVS6fyj1-Gb5CVDn3q8ufNnXjpH6ApHHgzr1MlXeRCg4Mm7cEWWtmQdWNbvPGRpBJgPzkaDyKknF4OTt308RRCEpySoHLZB2wjWxTwtSqOWCrdLtKfDfI9g/w640-h426/LW%201%20install%20.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lewis Brander, Vardaxoglou Gallery, installation view.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Lewis Brander at Vardaxoglou Gallery, brings together a range of humble skyscapes - some of which gesture to some earthly place beneath - completed by the artist over the last two to three years. Bare of any frivolous neo- or classical referents, Brander’s skies arrive, in their close box frames, as gestural washes of pigment, as memory traces caressed into visible recollection by board, linen, flax. The earthly tone used in each scape do not describe nor define a place as such. Rather, these subtle swells of oil paint convey the artist's own recollection of times spent beneath and in awe of the blue through pink skies of Greece and London. Echoing the olive branches and TV antenna which frame that 'pure and wide [...] excavated, transparent, invisible' expanse, 'so blue' it evokes some sense of fearful sublimity, these two geographic masses provide the earthly hands that hold Brander’s memories, supporting their painterly life. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">As a lover of the haptic - of the affective touch and hold allowed for in the most capacious of artworks - I am drawn to the paintings included in this exhibition where some illusionary opacity collapses. That is, where the division between sky and city (or) landscape dissolves; where the horizons of medium and support, as well as body and space, blur through improvisational grace. <i>Variations of Light (mid summer)</i>, a pearl-toned window marred with smudges of oil that bleed and breathe into one another, is just one example where the material supports of Bander’s compositions jam their way into their paintings space, bringing with their intrusion an affective energy so loosely bound and unbound, here, in the dimpled grain of the creamy flax. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl2jwiRibWHWrqc33V9xNJgXnVJXK7z8Gmw-jnEkgBlhwDtV29NhckIPCcRALJKnIBhQwzxvCxXty2FdNMNWc7SnW1amlqWcQBGhz3GJ-7vQGCN7IkSITpE6d92wfjFzPmdO1n5DkVK20dSWzHW3jWn6xz836VDxsyxuXMGgY10DlylooxQU1-QGnjlQ/s1280/LB%202%20.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl2jwiRibWHWrqc33V9xNJgXnVJXK7z8Gmw-jnEkgBlhwDtV29NhckIPCcRALJKnIBhQwzxvCxXty2FdNMNWc7SnW1amlqWcQBGhz3GJ-7vQGCN7IkSITpE6d92wfjFzPmdO1n5DkVK20dSWzHW3jWn6xz836VDxsyxuXMGgY10DlylooxQU1-QGnjlQ/w640-h480/LB%202%20.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lewis Brander, <i>Variations of Light (mid summer</i>), 2019-2021, oil on flax, 27 x 32cm</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">The way in which <i>Variations of Light</i>’s backing surface holds Brander’s thin layers of oil not only gives the painting a new sense of physicality but imbues the scene with a sense of movement. It is as if a soft summer breeze has just swept some ancient Athenian sand into the square space in Soho from where I write with (borrowed) memories about the sky in its near and distant apparitions, feeling not alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Toby Üpson </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">with thanks to Estelle Renaud for her generous input<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Lewis Brander <br />Vardaxoglou Gallery, London <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">13 July – 13 August 2022<o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-1938134260573751422022-06-28T10:02:00.004+01:002022-06-28T10:03:23.271+01:00Deja Viewing <p><i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Alex Michon visits the seaside to see an exhibition that references the jubilee celebrations and finds herself doing the time warp again!</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">So, with the Union Jack bunting beginning to fray and the gimcrack, knick-knackery gathering rust in the dusty corners of the souvenir stores, it’s time to look back on the jubilee-ing hoopla with a wry and discerning eye.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">This is exactly what the exhibition<i> Off With Their Heads</i> attempted to do at the Don't Walk Walk Gallery in Deal. In keeping with its seaside location, many of the works on show featured affectionate end-of-the pier comedic elements. Two prints entitled <i>Acid Reign</i> by Neil Kelly and <i>Cheer Up Love </i>by Kelda Storm, with their rave and punk culture aesthetics served as irreverent antidotes to the forelock-tugging, cream tea-ing of the official celebrations.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoikz1iDS2UCN9r9rPyq4V21Z-p-sRgfIMU0wRLmysi-y0TtXx7ZxFQH8-zD6sphCQQwLuFMdOW0vai-rX_CobZ6x6RqQLNXaot7yBfmwho6B7aW3foWyUuCKcNaVFHBhkXNRxuUj59kWNZRZgEkGTURxOIsnOdvDNc8c5YO7IDR7kLtQJH0ySUwQJw/s959/Acid%20Reign.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="722" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHoikz1iDS2UCN9r9rPyq4V21Z-p-sRgfIMU0wRLmysi-y0TtXx7ZxFQH8-zD6sphCQQwLuFMdOW0vai-rX_CobZ6x6RqQLNXaot7yBfmwho6B7aW3foWyUuCKcNaVFHBhkXNRxuUj59kWNZRZgEkGTURxOIsnOdvDNc8c5YO7IDR7kLtQJH0ySUwQJw/w301-h400/Acid%20Reign.jpg" width="301" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neil Kelly, <i>Acid Reign</i>, 2022, limited edition print on William Turner paper</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Irreverence appears to be woven into Don’t Walk Walk’s walls considering that two of Britain’s most iconoclastic comedians, namely Vic Reeves and Noel Fielding, regularly choose to exhibit here. Fielding presented a series of affectionate oil on stick drawings of her majesty including: <i>The Queen on the Moon, The Queen Riding her Pet Flamingo Donovan </i>and<i> Little Queenie </i>(showing a now familiar diminutive version of her majesty standing next to a rather large guardsman). Jim Moir (aka Vick Reeves), whimsical as ever, showed an original watercolour of <i>Queen Victoria having a Paint Ball Experience.</i> Certainly nothing to frighten Liz’s adored horses here!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkNapPAsl4lNge_O7yU3z_rt3Ej_H2tUzrcBhKFMAJvFD3HG0xZQaYulp-fGVxHYOvDmXnRIRo7htss5aMIxc64pFN8Wmh_06zLPnh2erHiANKfrU7C4ezPTeACDK6RVWe6Wmb2Nitajij7hzMTwLh4-tkTaelj4EG2Q5hvwGofWutrMBKwzeSfNr-g/s958/Noel%20Fielding.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="677" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkNapPAsl4lNge_O7yU3z_rt3Ej_H2tUzrcBhKFMAJvFD3HG0xZQaYulp-fGVxHYOvDmXnRIRo7htss5aMIxc64pFN8Wmh_06zLPnh2erHiANKfrU7C4ezPTeACDK6RVWe6Wmb2Nitajij7hzMTwLh4-tkTaelj4EG2Q5hvwGofWutrMBKwzeSfNr-g/w283-h400/Noel%20Fielding.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noel Fielding, <i>Queen on the Moon</i>, 2022, oil stick on paper, 42x29cm</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Fabienne Jenny Jacquet’s series of six oil paintings entitled <i>Queens Head I-VI </i>were some of the most engaging works in the show. Jacquet’s over embellished thickly painted portraits did not specifically reference the all too familiar image of the queen herself. Rather they stood in as queen manqués, with only<i> Queen III </i>having a vague resemblance to Elizabeth II. With their colourful top-heavy hairstyles resplendent with what appear to be paint rolls of flowers, their ornate drop earrings and grimacing smiles, they brought to mind ambiguous 18th Century grotesques. These portraits, replaying a painterly historicity reminiscent of Marie Antoinette, not only hinted at the darker side of monarchy but, as the faces got increasing obliterated by paint in each subsequent iteration, they also appeared to comment on the constant rehashing of queenly reproductions.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgab0ZEQJqQEok8N7vZvE2X55GQOqX1uT_x0RIwHKKQtsTp6TBQYMOti9k0uKnxFnu7SFffIuNzMwVy9dw0yWqh9fUv30nhffhME5WAmySHy3KW_7UWgy3KjsCjMPy-Z2jME4qZAI9NfdWR3-3jdhCrJwrCB9qJKcslrobFwHFnRM5228my0o8zVQ93tA/s2152/Queens.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="2152" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgab0ZEQJqQEok8N7vZvE2X55GQOqX1uT_x0RIwHKKQtsTp6TBQYMOti9k0uKnxFnu7SFffIuNzMwVy9dw0yWqh9fUv30nhffhME5WAmySHy3KW_7UWgy3KjsCjMPy-Z2jME4qZAI9NfdWR3-3jdhCrJwrCB9qJKcslrobFwHFnRM5228my0o8zVQ93tA/w640-h269/Queens.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fabienne Jenny Jacquet, <i>Queens Head VI, III</i>,<i> II,</i> 2022, oil on paper, 41x33cm</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Elsewhere in the exhibition several works took a broader view of the subject to include aspects of British Culture. Neil Kelly’s melancholic painting <i>Shit Picnic </i>recalls a typical day remembered from the artist’s childhood of a picnic embarked on during a gloomy British summers day with a pylon standing in for a tree and a desolate blanket laid out ready for the festivities to begin. Not so much of a lovely jaunt in a green and pleasant land as a cheap holiday on the outskirts of town. This idea is further explored in Vanessa Smith’s <i>Farewell to this Lands Cheerless Marshes. </i>Smith is well known for her paintings of uninhabited interiors, imbued with an eerie tension. Her deceptively glossy pink interior opens up its secrets on subsequent viewing; fondant fancies on the table, a desolate drinks cupboard and some kind of disaster on TV hint at a particular feeling of ennui common to many a suburban British sitting room.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrfo9Fz4rDmQ3aByBBokXspYfgw5w_pQAAqG3EeTeQpsjVb64_YI35Pbpgitf1unExLWbpLwC-uWr7gSFWP1Ad1VJ3gzE8mexJ3KyZWi99T-NG1oxssAjjURrhFF7t1_i7F8aYCNYRGr_-IGrKpRvIiad2hKJqGxo7Y2kn1hfJYXLmwBXjzhlH1flfA/s2046/Vanessa%20Smith.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1459" data-original-width="2046" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrfo9Fz4rDmQ3aByBBokXspYfgw5w_pQAAqG3EeTeQpsjVb64_YI35Pbpgitf1unExLWbpLwC-uWr7gSFWP1Ad1VJ3gzE8mexJ3KyZWi99T-NG1oxssAjjURrhFF7t1_i7F8aYCNYRGr_-IGrKpRvIiad2hKJqGxo7Y2kn1hfJYXLmwBXjzhlH1flfA/w640-h456/Vanessa%20Smith.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vanessa Smith, <i>Farewell to This Land's Cheerless Marches</i>, 2022, oil & acrylic on canvas, 50x70cm</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">With strikes on the increase, a looming oil crisis, a corrupt government in power and<i> Pistol </i>streaming on Disney+, this jubilee feels like a re-imagining of 1977. In that long hot summer of discontent when the bunting fluttered, and the <i>filth and the fury </i>was unleashed onto screaming tabloid headlines because some ne’er-do-wells had sworn on TV, the backdrop was the truly shocking image of her majesty with a safety pin through her nose. Here’s hoping that Danny Boyle’s<i> Pistol </i>will inspire some contemporary youthful rebellion. Even though <i>Off With Their Heads</i> alluded to all this, the shock of lese majesty has dimmed with time. Let’s face it, we all love Her Maj really. God Save the Queen, after all remember it is not her that ‘made you a moron’ it was just this bloody fascist regime! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Alex Michon <o:p></o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><i>Off With Their Heads </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Don't Walk Walk Gallery, Deal, Kent </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">2-12 June 2022</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-86964032348111754232022-05-16T10:44:00.003+01:002022-05-16T10:45:43.977+01:00Allora & Calzadilla, Antille<div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>Toby Upson is in Paris and playing to the stereotype - wandering the magical streets, wafting, like a flâneur caught in the high spring breeze, and surveying the art.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Having spent my morning walking the banks of the Seine, I entered the Musée d'Orsay for a spritz of capital ‘A’ museum Art. I leave with fond memories that make me feel ooh so Parisian as I peel layers off a buttery croissant. The addition of my Édouard Manet, <i>Flowers dans un vase de cristal, </i>postcard on the rickety wire table just adds to my romantic collage. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Perhaps it is because of the beautiful sunny day, but as I walk past the Louvre my admiration for post-(and)Impressionist flower paintings grows - grows, and blooms. Much like the breeze emanating off the Seine’s waves, there is something in the thickly forms of Van Goth, Derain, Cézanne, or my fav’ Manet, that crashes out of their canvases emanating an attractive air of sprightly coolness. On an iconographic level, these bouquet paintings offer so much more than darling awe; each flower pertains to complex histories of migration, colonisation, commodification, as well as to spiritual and social connotations. These pretty images could be seen, or read, therefore as a documentary record of the beau-face of Modernity, and at the same time its asymmetric fallout: Coloniality, to follow Walter Mignolo. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Continuing with my springful divergences, I arrive in the 4th Arrondissement and enter Galerie Chantal Crousel. I am welcomed by <i>Graft</i> (2021), thousands upon thousands of recycled polyvinyl petals pooled in windswept constellations on the gallery’s floor. <i>Bonjour</i>. Given my mornings wandering thoughts, and my associative personality, it is perhaps of no surprise that I felt an immediate pull to this seemingly tranquil exhibition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnL4us0Xtvqa8YAybHD5yclcPRPekFM5YjG7at_Nm0OOs62q3CEi6bykZCGIlY40GvG7oznDthAwgsHc6Uedq70IPFWEd1J4mInmuQUWRpLpnKsUeOobxiVFgAmu8TwOOaUJ2keFot30Ff5VqgZScJ84L4fEVTX63yUWTW4Cukx1G2OLTehabkyETdog/s452/Untitled-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="301" data-original-width="452" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnL4us0Xtvqa8YAybHD5yclcPRPekFM5YjG7at_Nm0OOs62q3CEi6bykZCGIlY40GvG7oznDthAwgsHc6Uedq70IPFWEd1J4mInmuQUWRpLpnKsUeOobxiVFgAmu8TwOOaUJ2keFot30Ff5VqgZScJ84L4fEVTX63yUWTW4Cukx1G2OLTehabkyETdog/w640-h426/Untitled-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Allora & Calzadilla, <i>Antille</i>, 2022. Exhibition view, courtesy of the artist and Galerie Chantal Crousel, Paris, photo, Martin Argyroglo.<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Titled <i>Antille, </i>a reference to both the period before European colonisation of the Americas as well as the semi-mythical unknown land labelled on mediaeval maps as <i>Antilia</i>, the exhibition brings together three bodies of work by the artist duo Allora & Calzadilla (two of which I mention here). With a practice rooted in research, the pair clash materials and connotations to illuminate occluded geopolitical narratives. In <i>Antille, </i>the use of hand-painted plastic, video, and sound create an atmosphere that is at once cool, and then cutting; calling out the continued ecological effect of colonisation on the fauna of the Caribbean, and, to me, how this destruction is glossed over through petty associations. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">As with the speculative histories that can emerge once we look beneath the plasticy paintings of Manet et al. the sea of recycled petals that constitute <i>Graft </i>reference both the idle of summer vacations on ‘island paradises’ (think necks with garlands) as well as the direct ecological effect of this idle-vacating on the natural environment. Unlike the bold colours of those attractive Museum paintings - indeed of flashy holiday adverts - Allora & Calzadilla’s stilled-life uses muted tones of pink through brown to create its allure. This variation in hue shows seven stages in the biological breakdown of the flowers strewn on the floor. To me this staging of decay, enunciated in the kitchy camp language of mass consumption, can be read as a mirror to the false realities pictured and peddled by shiny Modernity; that is, an ideology that foregrounds its quest for a quick picturesque dream whilst turning a blind eye too, or just blatantly ignoring (denying) any long-term material ramifications of its trespasses.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWPuokUnKI-vgeP1fZeatqModqRhqIapbrsN5u776ncUbkzQMVXkLnDKLsGtRfffVj2wFQwdo2EbBLom9COZUrPQYOcDohe2tIFLzLAV3szs50XKUgyI7QeM1Gs1dS_z757llHJYnfmDnHyLwI8562Atrgf7sBhWq5k5L23aPGvkktC8OEJ_aDNbQ-A/s452/Untitled-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="301" data-original-width="452" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWPuokUnKI-vgeP1fZeatqModqRhqIapbrsN5u776ncUbkzQMVXkLnDKLsGtRfffVj2wFQwdo2EbBLom9COZUrPQYOcDohe2tIFLzLAV3szs50XKUgyI7QeM1Gs1dS_z757llHJYnfmDnHyLwI8562Atrgf7sBhWq5k5L23aPGvkktC8OEJ_aDNbQ-A/w640-h426/Untitled-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span>Allora & Calzadilla, <i>Antille</i></span><span>, 2022. Exhibition view (detail of <i>Graft</i>, 2021), courtesy of the artist and Galerie Chantal Crousel, Paris, photo, Martin Argyroglo.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Amongst this sea of blossom, the natural liveness of the world is introduced into the exhibition’s space through video and sonic media. <i>Penumbra </i>(2020), is a minimal soundscape and a grainy series of video projections that trace the arc of the sun’s movements around the concealed gallery space. Echoing the vacated effect of colonial exploration/exploitation, David Lang’s audio sounds far from something fresh-air spritely. To link my metaphors, this quiet tweeting sounds more like an exhausted canary, than a perky parakeet. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Riffing off of the associative is a way for Allora & Calzadilla to delight and illuminate through interaction - to paraphrase Michelle White in <i>Antille</i>'s press release. The video footage of <i>Penumbra </i>furthers this intuitive thinking for aesthetic - dare I say, subtly-sublime - effect. The ghostly film appears not to be black and white but rather bleached of most of its saturation. Projected in soft focus, the twinkling shards of light and shadow brings to mind moments of awakening; those dewy-eyed seconds when one’s eyes adjust to the realities of the world after coming too from a deep sleep. To me, the footage recalls glimmers of the sun reflected off an expanse of water - memories of my romantic morning walk along the Seine come to my mind. In reality, the rippling shadows come from rays of sunshine dancing through Martinican foliage. If we are indeed waking from a Modern slumber, it seems the video asks us to see beyond that fantasy we have constructed for ourselves. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQh22hVsgDbvX-6N8NC5s4rFvt8j94r1VnfTTH2UPrwPa8hhEZDJ-NQiMeX9oLNcckDVMLehCM0TyPPdsVwlhF5jpQwWFuVHGq_nMBwD2fmeeb8Jlu6TnmCX3FicnjWf4JpP2UJtMGNOnuRDv6ilPSbdXewDIG8LnpUWG7WUaW1S9ZeOzFCvN5Ba11Zg/s904/Picture%201.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="904" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQh22hVsgDbvX-6N8NC5s4rFvt8j94r1VnfTTH2UPrwPa8hhEZDJ-NQiMeX9oLNcckDVMLehCM0TyPPdsVwlhF5jpQwWFuVHGq_nMBwD2fmeeb8Jlu6TnmCX3FicnjWf4JpP2UJtMGNOnuRDv6ilPSbdXewDIG8LnpUWG7WUaW1S9ZeOzFCvN5Ba11Zg/w640-h390/Picture%201.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span>Allora & Calzadilla, <i>Antille</i></span><span>, 2022. Exhibition view (detail of </span><i>Penumbra</i><span>, 2020), courtesy of the artist and Galerie Chantal Crousel, Paris, photo, Andrew Wake.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">This projection of the sun’s movements across the floors of the Absalon Valley of Martinique onto the walls of a Parisian gallery is a stunning metaphorical cut with Modernity. If those post-(and)Impressionist flower paintings, hanging on the walls in the city’s collections, can now be read in hindsight as a map for so much more writhing beneath the sheen of Modernity - that is Coloniality - this staging of life captured envelops us in the flows of colonial degradation. Moreover, it directly challenges me on my romantic associations; calling me out on what first comes to mind; forcing me to work to see beyond a notion of reality that is fixed and wholly known.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Graft</span></i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> and <i>Penumbra</i>, demonstrate Allora & Calzadilla's abilities to transform the known into something a little more hesitant; a way of thinking foregrounded by poet-philosopher Édouard Glissant. Indeed, if we think with Glissant and treat these two works as islands in an archipelago, their presentation here not only critically challenges modes of picturing life but provides a cool moment through which to begin to think of reality as a complex formed through numerable intersections; be these histories of migration, colonisation, commodification, the spiritual, the social and/or the geopolitical. After all, we must remember, that life is not idle, no romantic collage, nor postcard. Life is a living process of growing, growing, and blooming associations. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Toby Upson</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Allora & Calzadilla, <i>Antille<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Galerie Chantal Crousel, Paris <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Until 28 May 2022<o:p></o:p></span></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-28450113541140326832022-05-01T01:31:00.004+01:002022-05-01T01:31:27.177+01:00Lads on tour: four encounterings (plus one) from the Venice Biennale 2022<p><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">The Netherlands, Brazil, The USA and Uruguay, Toby Upson finds a romantic self alive amongst four Pavilions in the 59th International Art Exhibition – La Biennale di Venezia (the Venice Biennale) </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">‘When I Sonia you say Boyce’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Sonia!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“BOYCE!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Sonia!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“BOYCE!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Sonia!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“BOYCE!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Sonia!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 108pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“BOYCE!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Electric flash, blue; crash and crash and thud. The base kicks, drops, and rises, pushing bodies into a flow. And together, we shuffle with cackling smiles. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWKs5D4IlTEX4sEvc1S6H82MnmdIVH6Hjxb-O_jUTcNkbKWefNi6PZ3GQqxtIWn-77OwYh6fxbniV6ONNJ8tnmLESUYvrV-hAFlQqtnDxT-Yc1P3WAft5b4IgCPxRrYlAX5Rgl8X7G_JufUXJ0ZO6YnUbhjY4CMxAA6o8zEkgj9zY3ICJbwjGhf9kdRw/s804/Picture%201.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="546" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWKs5D4IlTEX4sEvc1S6H82MnmdIVH6Hjxb-O_jUTcNkbKWefNi6PZ3GQqxtIWn-77OwYh6fxbniV6ONNJ8tnmLESUYvrV-hAFlQqtnDxT-Yc1P3WAft5b4IgCPxRrYlAX5Rgl8X7G_JufUXJ0ZO6YnUbhjY4CMxAA6o8zEkgj9zY3ICJbwjGhf9kdRw/w434-h640/Picture%201.png" width="434" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">I always say the Venice Biennale is lads on tour. Case in point, my hazy memory-come-epigraph of the British Pavilion’s party this year. Situated in an open-air courtyard, in the centre of historic Venice, few details separate this celebration from those that unfold in the clubs of other European islands (in my mind anyway). In Venice, the floors are filled with a strange mix of people: jet-set writhe with jet proletariat. It's glorious. And for an overly enthusiastic (and I must say privileged) someone, like myself, it is an opportunity to enjoy some level of other-humanly reality. To be all neo-romantic about it, I find a self alive in the <i>flash, blue; crash and crash and thud </i>of the Biennale; on this city-island where rot and marble rock in a melee; where art and life truly merge for those able to access this megamix of fine finger food, fizz, and of course art!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">This neo-romantic re-envisioning of humanly possibilities lies at the core of this year’s Biennale. Titled, <i>The Milk of Dreams </i>- a short line corralled from Leonora Carrington - many of the works in and around the Biennale seem to take a Surrealist sojourn through understandings of humanity, and indeed, understandings of </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">being. Rather than deploying otherworldly stylistics to re-envision a dissociated world “through the prism of imagination” - to quote the Biennale’s curator Cecilia Alemani - the works that took me outside of myself each looked over, above and beyond the realities of being, helping me to grasp “new modes of coexisting” and the “infinite new possibilities of transformation” allowed for when one dreams in milk instead of pure fantasy. And so, as I await my ooh six twenty flight, it seems fitting that this tactile “re-enchantment of the world” happens when bodies take flight, arrive, move together - <i>shuffle with cackling smiles</i>. <span style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">With 213 artists, 80 National Pavilions, and numerous events throughout the city, the Biennale, as always, is BIG. I am not going to map this scene, nor round up what unfolded in my Venetian scuttling. Instead, by way of a constellation, here are four Pavilion encounters, of varying lengths, that pushed my alive self into joyful free flow. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">melanie bonajo, <i>When the body says Yes </i>(Dutch Pavilion) <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Embrace your inner sloth,” melaine bonajo. I recline, falling into a soft landscape of neoprene hills and velvet foliage. Just beyond my toes, a sequined meadow and fur valley. Gazing up, I drink in the night sky rendered on the ceiling of the 10th-century Chiesetta della Misericordia Cannaregio and as my eyes drift down, they come to rest on an expansive screen suspended on the horizon. Here, slathered in olive oil, a group of naked bodies slip and slide on and over each other, jiggling with pleasure. Cut to a spring-time forest, they play wild, hanging off trees, jumping in pools. Layard over these humorous caresses, voices speak in turn about intimate moments of genital encounter and wider sexual becoming; often problematic for queer bodies in societies that have rigid notions of sexual being. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-kh0Q2f6sgo29TUHZVdqJ6qMo3xTogzKe-pVWEhwvPzofWmgQbPr3Ir9382_nZ7c30rOCnArkfZ6bJlW58_ZuAXuTt-POidpoTqEHfQAs1QpicH6NVrIv3s4GY3WZ4rh7_b2chgbh3p4uOzCEGiXIP67fnUk8ktW1MqlPillZ0m3wOLH8quDri8qug/s904/Picture%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="904" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-kh0Q2f6sgo29TUHZVdqJ6qMo3xTogzKe-pVWEhwvPzofWmgQbPr3Ir9382_nZ7c30rOCnArkfZ6bJlW58_ZuAXuTt-POidpoTqEHfQAs1QpicH6NVrIv3s4GY3WZ4rh7_b2chgbh3p4uOzCEGiXIP67fnUk8ktW1MqlPillZ0m3wOLH8quDri8qug/w640-h426/Picture%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Exhibition view of <i>When the body says Yes,</i> melanie bonajo, 2022. Dutch entry Venice Biennale as commissioned by the Mondriaan Fund. Photo: Peter Tijhuis.</p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Building from bonajo’s ongoing research into the possibilities for intimacy in an increasingly alienating world, the film installation is centred around one central claim: “touch can be a powerful remedy for the modern epidemic of loneliness.” With their wiggling together, the group of bare protagonists seem to be anything but isolated. That is a crass statement. Taking a holistic view of sexual bodies, bonajo’s film, and the viewing space designed by Théo Demans, hold experiential reality and somatic promise in restive tension<span style="color: #222222;">. Not dwelling in the numbed mind-body connections that result from a commodity-driven becoming, the visual and sculptural play space of the Pavilion proposes that consensual touch can allow a body a more capacious existence. That is, in this abundant space “we discover our bodies beyond the norm,” to quote the film. And indeed, we are encouraged to register ways of holding ourselves outside of the hard pillars of western self-hood. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 14.15pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Jonathas de Andrede, <i>With the heart coming out of the mouth </i>(Pavilion of Brazil) <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Through the left ear, I step inside the architectural head of this year’s Pavilion of Brazil, and a furnace of ambient noise situates me within something structural. Not so much a body in space, but a space from the body, here I hear, listening with my eyes, phrases corralled from day to day Brazilian life. These fragments - where the body acts as a metaphorical vessel for communication - are so much more than poppy figures of speech; they pertain to tongues in ears, that is to the divisive spectacle of rhetoric. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMqahC3TeM47vo3Ebw95SV0hasJZszvKQwXzUmT0zIXaQmrg2sTRWvUUtW_vJvt_PH8OdgfOA3Q1yaSydiLRjSl58-oFyymPwzVdGClUhikIar4GyjmkDShM8FsZsng0Z4jzT7ksz5J7KkAjMPnidQd7lG9bu2F9JgjMC_8T_AKnllNjJgk9_itrtLw/s904/Picture%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="904" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMqahC3TeM47vo3Ebw95SV0hasJZszvKQwXzUmT0zIXaQmrg2sTRWvUUtW_vJvt_PH8OdgfOA3Q1yaSydiLRjSl58-oFyymPwzVdGClUhikIar4GyjmkDShM8FsZsng0Z4jzT7ksz5J7KkAjMPnidQd7lG9bu2F9JgjMC_8T_AKnllNjJgk9_itrtLw/w640-h428/Picture%203.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Exhibition view of <i>With the heart coming out of the mouth</i> at the 2022 Brazilian Pavilion. Courtesy Ding Musa / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo.</p>
<p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">For Jonathas de Andrede the idiosyncrasies of the Brazilian people are a point of interest. In particular, how quotidian peculiarities can express something of the social, political and economic obfuscation many Brazilians face. For his work in this year's Biennale, the artist gives common phrases a mass-culture visuality: “faca nos dentes” (“knife in the teeth”) here rendered sassy; large red lips surround bare teeth and holding a blade at a rakish angle. With their journalistic grain, the pixelated pores of these cardboard wall-works recall the way in which narratives can infect our minds. It is fitting therefore that these spores fill the two lobes of the Pavilion of Brazil’s head. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqyYA9I1UvWGLT4NHjFgoa0x-Vx88H4Jldp5KWlZd2aG09nH10ipuZ8rr5y9WgpXJaTRwckqvlCqVdw8BOiuLyvhu9inGXBLwy5nOcO9o9W0qs-s1X6DM9phfSR65cgWDYQT3CrlksmGsWF9bnUdPsCURHjasa__MGwhG7G9SCx1junG-26s1iZhaFw/s904/Picture%204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="904" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJqyYA9I1UvWGLT4NHjFgoa0x-Vx88H4Jldp5KWlZd2aG09nH10ipuZ8rr5y9WgpXJaTRwckqvlCqVdw8BOiuLyvhu9inGXBLwy5nOcO9o9W0qs-s1X6DM9phfSR65cgWDYQT3CrlksmGsWF9bnUdPsCURHjasa__MGwhG7G9SCx1junG-26s1iZhaFw/w640-h482/Picture%204.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Exhibition view of <i>With the heart coming out of the mouth</i> at the 2022 Brazilian Pavilion. Courtesy Ding Musa / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo.</p></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcyBVkPr0eIObLSnFU81mNPsqbawYDF82JxUtUq4ILLgX_NBInIQucChTwxWHUrsl56ldtS7fwARA1n2ulOXn5lX_FtiZBW4TZle0E2q3P4CE4aqK7ggTfzep5Ek_RMflisRj3WypmjCc2mKJ0gRIkE2BseRWSAg56e4j9cNa9WcoJdIE_fv4jEUZ-g/s904/Picture%205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="904" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcyBVkPr0eIObLSnFU81mNPsqbawYDF82JxUtUq4ILLgX_NBInIQucChTwxWHUrsl56ldtS7fwARA1n2ulOXn5lX_FtiZBW4TZle0E2q3P4CE4aqK7ggTfzep5Ek_RMflisRj3WypmjCc2mKJ0gRIkE2BseRWSAg56e4j9cNa9WcoJdIE_fv4jEUZ-g/w640-h428/Picture%205.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Exhibition view of <i>With the heart coming out of the mouth</i> at the 2022 Brazilian Pavilion. Courtesy Ding Musa / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo.</p><div><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Moving from the left to the right side of the Pavilion, the abounding sound that gripped me upon my entry becomes one of the points of focus. Like the isolated snippets of visual metaphor, the video <i>Nó na garganta [Knot in the Throat]</i> brings together scenes of human and non-human comportment; hands curl, feet twitch, snakes become one with bodies, monkeys, leaves appear, and fires burn. Pairing the seemingly mundane with the horrific, or thrilling, the 38-minute filmatic collage is displayed on a large, pixelated screen - the kind you might expect to see at a political rally - and is accompanied by a soundtrack that pumps a vital energy into the Pavilion space. Not a clack, pulse, nor symmetrical rhythm, this aural is a fizzle; it is its own kind of syncopated jitter, messing up the logic of the oppressive narrative. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 14.15pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">As I witness the video unfurl, a gentle pushing on my back forces me to a wall and mares my abilities to move, see, and be an active body in this rhetorical space. The large kinetic sculpture <i>com o coração saindo pela boca [with the heart coming out of the mouth], </i>comprises of a pair of lavish lips and a huge red tongue that inflates filling the right side of the Pavilion. Perhaps an overt reference to the ways in which speech can and does divide bodies, this work, as with the others in the Pavilion, makes clear how the body can transcend its corporeality, becoming a communicative device, one that has the ability to bridge as well as to barricade. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3F3JgtSGEvJcoaAYg7G9jA3Er3WixCmTjXHAK7Y4C1gu_EZoaRvZf3B9Kip_IHxn78hNeyWjcsrUujlKCAHnlpcvRnlbmu9c1DsSZHD1C_3Oi0QceBYleuGTbl0ooG9xiLNIejYjQXRniM73kRIUBID0xIEOdC4jNzbOlMuBfiMMn7t-2Xqdt8Joag/s904/Picture%206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="904" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3F3JgtSGEvJcoaAYg7G9jA3Er3WixCmTjXHAK7Y4C1gu_EZoaRvZf3B9Kip_IHxn78hNeyWjcsrUujlKCAHnlpcvRnlbmu9c1DsSZHD1C_3Oi0QceBYleuGTbl0ooG9xiLNIejYjQXRniM73kRIUBID0xIEOdC4jNzbOlMuBfiMMn7t-2Xqdt8Joag/w640-h428/Picture%206.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Exhibition view of <i>With the heart coming out of the mouth</i> at the 2022 Brazilian Pavilion. Courtesy Ding Musa / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo.</p><div><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Simone Leigh, <i>Sovereignty </i>(U.S. Pavilion)<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Ooohsh! It was the first sound I made upon entering the Arsenale. A day later; awwwwe! a similar reaction upon walking into the U.S. Pavilion and witnessing the beautiful<s> </s>monuments cast by Simone Leigh. As an incessant follower - lover - of Tina M. Campt’s writing and precise mode of giving form to theory, I have read many gorgeous descriptions of Leigh’s work. Experiencing her anthropomorphic female figures in person, I am left, suspended, left breathless. <span style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEQxCP7qH0dOo_vrYb75y46zJ5wKK8L88eOkCy19JkD17Fg3pLDulFfLHL51iAMLwg5z4g1OErCc8WmOivbiCWRYSBPjOX_24ETKRfgx851XzP38X7kbZOg0Lnu2kTnBN_jCcv8oZhMr8uCJRU6cPYMU1oHFdMmu5uOX03K3zfMC3Dejn21-TP6A94Q/s904/Picture%207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="904" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEQxCP7qH0dOo_vrYb75y46zJ5wKK8L88eOkCy19JkD17Fg3pLDulFfLHL51iAMLwg5z4g1OErCc8WmOivbiCWRYSBPjOX_24ETKRfgx851XzP38X7kbZOg0Lnu2kTnBN_jCcv8oZhMr8uCJRU6cPYMU1oHFdMmu5uOX03K3zfMC3Dejn21-TP6A94Q/w640-h428/Picture%207.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Simone Leigh, <i>Last Garment,</i> 2022. Bronze, 54 × 58 × 27 inches (137.2 × 147.3 × 68.6 cm). Courtesy the artist and Matthew Marks Gallery. Photo by Timothy Schenck. © Simone Leigh.</p><div><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">A blackened pool hollows the first room of the U.S. Pavilion. Its utter tranquillity does not so much holds but push me to a perimeter, where I teeter, on harrow edge, one step away from feeling weighty sublimity. <i>Last Garment, </i>is a seemingly simple bronze figure of a Jamaican woman washing her clothes. No patina, no fuss, just a woman doing her thing to care, to survive. I am transfixed. Caught up in the bouquet of knots that form the figure's hair; taken aback by the majesty of the way in which her form curls, as a crane, e</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">xhaling, and in turn exuding nothing but powerful atmospherics. Stillness. Quiet. In a word, Leigh's figure epitomises her own sovereignty; described in the Pavilion’s guide as “not [being] subject to another’s authority, another’s desires, or another's gaze, but rather to be the author of one’s own history.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Originally pictured on a colonial-era postcard, the figure Leigh has based <i>Last Garment </i>on was meant in its own time (the 1870s) to establish the idea of Jamaica as a “tropical Paradise” and Jamaican people as “loyal, disciplined, and clean” - to re-quote Krista Thompson from the guide. These associations aimed to make Jamaica an attractive destination for British colonists who were embracing the burgeoning tourist industry. The original postcard, photographed by C.H. Graves, debased its sitter of all self-determined agency. Looking at a reproduction of this souvenir in the Pavilion’s guide, what jumps out to me is the way in which the figure of the woman washing her clothing seems to be penned in; she is trapped in a gushing stream by a steep bank and wire fence. It is almost as if this woman is a zoo animal, held in a cage for our gaze, desire, and the delight we find in the otherly. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Leigh’s bronze counters this narrative. Recasting the washerwoman figure in fine detail, with an elegance, and a sense of self-determined strength.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> Despite the colonial atmosphere, in Graves’ original image, the face of the figure seems at peace; eyes cast down, exhaling, with a sense of dignity being excluded in the small details of this woman’s decorum. Accentuating these aspects of the image, Leigh’s figure, a figure trapped in <i>its </i>own pool, refuses to capitulate to a regime where she is a fetishised object, only finding validity as she circulates through the vernacular tourist trade. With her face cast down, her delicate hold, and the stillness of her pool, the figure in <i>Last Garment </i>demands we register and engage her as a sovereign self, whilst also paying feeling in some way culpable to the history this woman is bringing out in the wash. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 14.15pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Gerardo Goldwasser, <i>Persona </i>(Uruguay Pavilion) <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 14.15pt;"><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">A white cube and a man-sized mirror; the language of modernity is pretty copy and paste. Delving into and beyond the cuts that form the ‘uniform(is)ation’ of a being in society, Gerardo Goldwasser’s project for the Uruguay Pavilion, <i>Persona, </i>is labelled as an opportunity for critical reflection. The elegant sculptural intervention consists of 18 reels of charcoal black felt, 50 cloth sleeves, a rigid measuring stick and that large mirror. Drawn to both the minimal black and white aesthetic of the exhibition as well as its conceptual becoming, I find <i>Persona </i>one of the most accomplished Pavilions, indeed works, in this year's Biennale. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Using the fashion industry as a cypher for human becomings, Goldwasser’s conceptual critique weaves together numerous historical threads - Venice as a city of fashion (particularly the operatic possibilities of fashion), Uruguay as a colonial stopover-come-refuge for political émigrés, and his own Jewish history - to unravel tensions held innate to modernity and its bio-political proteges.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK83ff1japI4gXxZinBpa7EDZPA3cXQ0cDkoeMb1i_3qZ2KPdeWoRDZ9HeKPfbKBJbDeI8HQ2SRoGsQWtqt_WUMbRGH97SAHTHyu3RJZUJEg2ITXSOrdbQJ9niktodUwVm50L-jNDCkArJlY6AzQKN0HEScox6kU2ChPE7rFDL7rjSexMhgAhZWJZThg/s904/Picture%208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="904" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK83ff1japI4gXxZinBpa7EDZPA3cXQ0cDkoeMb1i_3qZ2KPdeWoRDZ9HeKPfbKBJbDeI8HQ2SRoGsQWtqt_WUMbRGH97SAHTHyu3RJZUJEg2ITXSOrdbQJ9niktodUwVm50L-jNDCkArJlY6AzQKN0HEScox6kU2ChPE7rFDL7rjSexMhgAhZWJZThg/w640-h426/Picture%208.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Gerardo Goldwasser, <i>Mesa de corte</i>, 2022. 18 reels of black cloth, 270 × 540 × 330 cm. Photo: Rafael Lejtreger. </p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Bundled in three pyramids of six, the 18 reels of inch thick black felt that compose <i>Mesa de corte [The Cutting Table] </i>are monolithic. Almost filling Uruguay’s small pavilion space, the softness of the fabric transforms from something holding - of comfort, warmth - into something dominating - restrictive and stark. As with any monument, sitting with these tombs, listening to how the materials whisper to us - to paraphrase Pablo da Silveira in the catalogue - a complex history of discipline and disguise emerges. As I move around the Pavilion’s space, one of the secrets sequestered behind <i>Mesa de corte's initial</i> exterior comes into view: hundreds of tailors' cutting patterns cling to one side of the dark felt rolls. These misty white panels, templates for things to become, accentuate the grain of their woollen base, weeping pale blue-green tears in anticipation of the standardised life they are to enter into. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMyUQS6YQRF854ZQtgeRs110OlpkYj1_ePCKbPFoRc2XosCrYrgBa6ryhNNu9VNbc6TOCLnRvSFE_flNfuXZMo4DhuF3Z9q20xDyWb5fl7nhBJ5zqin_fXp0JC88heKkTwltFub9IQslLHtg6nFLIAC8s5SjlRzZlz_YjzCJJAELI_rMch4GEf7mHRWg/s904/Picture%209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="904" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMyUQS6YQRF854ZQtgeRs110OlpkYj1_ePCKbPFoRc2XosCrYrgBa6ryhNNu9VNbc6TOCLnRvSFE_flNfuXZMo4DhuF3Z9q20xDyWb5fl7nhBJ5zqin_fXp0JC88heKkTwltFub9IQslLHtg6nFLIAC8s5SjlRzZlz_YjzCJJAELI_rMch4GEf7mHRWg/w640-h426/Picture%209.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;">Gerardo Goldwasser, <i>Mesa de corte, </i>2022. 18 reels of black cloth, 270 × 540 × 330 cm. Photo: Rafael Lejtreger. </p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Taken from a book of tailors patterns, inherited from his grandfather, Goldwasser’s use of template pattern pieces alludes to the ways in which industry sets itself up to eliminate difference; to “sustain a rigid pre-established order with the purpose of producing uniformity,” as Laura Malosetti Costa and Pablo Uribe state. Following this logic of industrial re-production, the material forms in <i>Persona </i>draw a line between capitalist standardisation and modes of authoritarian rule. (It is of note that the book of standardised patterns used in <i>Mesa de corte</i> were, perhaps, originally templates for Nazi military uniforms. As a Jewish tailor, Goldwasser’s grandfather survived his imprisonment in the Buchenwald death camp because of his professional skills.) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGP7udf3eCdGNdLtIFYU1uf7z7dhjxFjyDSH2iBckhpbPF-6VNHohOVWSMtCx5yZLGDaE7e2tVIRkob020xyIY0MN_O2KrzDlDBPodi7c2FSB74fXiVTkMgpmyOfy4tQXdkP1RaiwooP_VQDedy7ie10bGuxHrVbOeZR-f-IQn-_i1ds-erLd2h8o_Q/s904/Picture%2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="904" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGP7udf3eCdGNdLtIFYU1uf7z7dhjxFjyDSH2iBckhpbPF-6VNHohOVWSMtCx5yZLGDaE7e2tVIRkob020xyIY0MN_O2KrzDlDBPodi7c2FSB74fXiVTkMgpmyOfy4tQXdkP1RaiwooP_VQDedy7ie10bGuxHrVbOeZR-f-IQn-_i1ds-erLd2h8o_Q/w640-h426/Picture%2010.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;">Gerardo Goldwasser, <i>El saludo (detail)</i>, 2010-2022. 85 black fabric sleeves pinned to the wall. Dimensions variable. Photo: Rafael Lejtreger. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">El saludo</span></i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> <i>[The Salute], </i>a line-up of sum 50 left arm suit sleeves pinned to one wall of the Pavilion, parades like a well-groomed regiment before <i>Mesa de corte. </i>The juxtaposition of these two works further the connection between authoritarian modes of governance and the ways in which we present our bodies to conform to some kind of social geometry. In their poetic whispers, however, this delicate line-up of vilified lefts seem to call out together, positioning us as witnesses to the bio-political standardisation of both bodies and minds innate to hegemonic modes of social re-production. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">With its title, <i>El saludo </i>references an encounter; a moment of appearance upon which one faces an other making some kind of judgement. Leaving the Uruguay Pavilion, I turn and face the man-sized mirror, a work titled <i>Medidas directas [Direct Measurements], </i>situated at the entrance to the Pavilion. Gazing at my tired suit and unkempt face, my thoughts turn to the various personas I have and do don, especially whilst on the other-humanly floors of Venice. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 14.15pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Despite the elitism of Venice and the wider art world, my encounterings at this year's Biennale have returned to me some of the naive promise I have in art. A hope perhaps best surmised by Cecilia Alemani when she gave shared her thoughts on the role of the Biennale following the covid-19 pandemic; she states, “the simplest, most sincere answer I could find is that the Biennale sums up all the things we have so sorely missed in the last two years: the freedom to meet people from all over the world, the possibility of travel, the joy of spending time together, the practice of difference, translation, incomprehension, and communion.” Personally, I feel joy and possibility, togetherness and difference, incomprehension and communion are key sensorial assets to any notion of being or becoming in this world. If it takes lads on tour to glimmer these innately human characteristics count me in. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Toby Upson</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">The 59th Biennale di Venezia runs from 23 April to 27 November 2022</span></span><span style="color: red; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-73249196318514627532022-04-16T11:09:00.001+01:002022-04-16T11:09:42.951+01:00A Virtual Reality Cosmos at the Serpentine<p> <i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Toby Upson visits the Serpentine to view Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster’s 'Alienarium 5'</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">I am a dreamy romantic; more drawn to Elio Pearlman (<i>Call Me by Your Name</i>)<i> </i>than Paul Atreides (<i>Dune</i>). That is, I<span style="background-color: white;"> like to be pushed into free flow through sublime affect, not guided to a beyond vis-à-vis spectacular narrative. It goes without saying, therefore, that I approached Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster’s current exhibition, <i>Alienarium 5 </i>at Serpentine’s south gallery, with a level of aesthetic reticence. Building upon Gonzalez-Foerster’s interest in science-fiction, as well as her previous exhibitions that question the psychological dimensions of one’s being, this exhibitonary environment, a <i>gesamtkunstwerk </i>perhaps, is billed as a site through which to ‘imagine possible encounters with extra-terrestrials.’ To reiterate, as someone not fond of the somewhat </span>paradoxical composite, <i>science-(and)-fiction</i>, I find myself bracing teeth as I venture onto, into, and the beyond of (deep voice) <i><span style="background-color: white;">Alienarium 5</span></i><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34);"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Bo16Dhc2M9XYvKUW8NDZi-EVL8lbze9tvdeqg_mTsQo4Pp70w3uL6QElLhm2JSZAuqZ_SubKiELsQ7F44Crx817gcHLKyAGdteQuDG_GT0b0R1vlNEkoSNPz8he-5DWPfRfAdpxKqt1B8FWjuMdUZI_UOceIazHU9i_dXdmuRcVNGcLtLiESAJ0O4A/s1502/Dominique%20Gonzalez-Foerster,%20Alienarium,%202022.%20Produced%20by%20VIVE%20Arts%20and%20developed%20by%20Lucid%20Realities.%20Installation%20view,%20Alienarium%205%20(Serpentine%20South,%2014%20April%20-%204%20September%202022).%20Photo%20Hugo%20Glendinning.%20%C2%A9%20The%20artist%20and%20S.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1001" data-original-width="1502" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Bo16Dhc2M9XYvKUW8NDZi-EVL8lbze9tvdeqg_mTsQo4Pp70w3uL6QElLhm2JSZAuqZ_SubKiELsQ7F44Crx817gcHLKyAGdteQuDG_GT0b0R1vlNEkoSNPz8he-5DWPfRfAdpxKqt1B8FWjuMdUZI_UOceIazHU9i_dXdmuRcVNGcLtLiESAJ0O4A/w640-h426/Dominique%20Gonzalez-Foerster,%20Alienarium,%202022.%20Produced%20by%20VIVE%20Arts%20and%20developed%20by%20Lucid%20Realities.%20Installation%20view,%20Alienarium%205%20(Serpentine%20South,%2014%20April%20-%204%20September%202022).%20Photo%20Hugo%20Glendinning.%20%C2%A9%20The%20artist%20and%20S.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13.800000190734863px; text-align: start;"><br />Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, Alienarium, 2022. Produced by VIVE Arts and developed by Lucid Realities. Installation view, <i>Alienarium 5</i> (Serpentine South, 14 April - 4 September 2022). Photo: Hugo Glendinning. © The artist and Serpentine, 2022</span><span face="-webkit-standard" style="text-align: start;"></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Set up as a cosmos of sorts, a solar system formed without a singular divine bang, <i>Alienarium 5</i> is a constellation of collaborations and alien-corporealities brought into an orbit. Laid out spherically, the Sci-Fi connotation is omnipresent and perhaps a little too contrived. Indeed, focusing on each of the works-come-gestures that form this speculative planetary system, I sense a clash between the more narrative-based and the more mysteriously toned pieces. For example, as I sojourn around the exhibition’s press view, there is a rather long queue for <i>Alienarium, </i>2022, a multi-user Virtual Reality experience, with no one curiously peeping through the tiny eyeholes of <i>La Planète close (vision), </i>2021. Perhaps this is a sign of the times. Who needs to work at piecing together what we are seeing, being told, or experiencing, when we can plonk ourselves on a bench, plugin, and be guided towards an expanded understanding of ‘how we might relate to one another when untethered from our physical form.’ Conceptually, I find this notion of untethering uncomfortable. My critique of post-humanist postulations for something otherwise comes from the lack of real multi-sensory encounters I see mediums like VR offering to bodies; and importantly, the affective labour these encounters can provoke in a body. Now that is a far larger conversation, one nuanced by formalities in artistic media as well as by wider socio-cultural factors. It is a conversation, however, perhaps best entered into with Gonzalez-Foerster’s collaborator Paul B. Preciado and others from the fields of Queer and Black Studies (Jack Halberstam and Saidiya Hartman to name two other beautiful theorists). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">But let's backtrack; get up off that critical stool and feel what Gonzalez-Foerster’s experimental art universe has to offer. I mean, after all, I am a fan of neon (<i>Alienarium 5 (Neon)</i>, 2022)<i>, </i>perfume (<i>Alienflowers (holorium), </i>2022), and pearlescent exhibition guides. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx8llVoUZJIRe90Q4LC6bHOwfItg2sr4PNEX_mghtpSG78nEHALdBLs5eYDHipR2XyC9fSX7nAp6bzckFJzqAzgV2fasANoNQNFltmb6-RDPyg5Lt7PgieD9nBsYY_7h3e0XwEQl72H8pPgmaAknJNofGHFmePCI596MBLDvQyJmFC7PEh_4MfhFiTbQ/s1280/Exhibition%20guides.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx8llVoUZJIRe90Q4LC6bHOwfItg2sr4PNEX_mghtpSG78nEHALdBLs5eYDHipR2XyC9fSX7nAp6bzckFJzqAzgV2fasANoNQNFltmb6-RDPyg5Lt7PgieD9nBsYY_7h3e0XwEQl72H8pPgmaAknJNofGHFmePCI596MBLDvQyJmFC7PEh_4MfhFiTbQ/w640-h480/Exhibition%20guides.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: start;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13.800000190734863px;"><br />Alienarium 5</span></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13.800000190734863px; text-align: start;"> exhibition guides. </span><span face="-webkit-standard" style="text-align: start;"></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">I stand, sit, and then stroll on a soft crackling amoeba. The gravity holding <i>Alienarium 5’s </i>cosmos together, <i>Planet Carpet (Uranus), </i>2022, runs throughout the inside of the Serpentine’s exhibition space. As the name suggests, this carpet piece is based upon an image of the planet Uranus; one rendered here in psychedelic shades of electric blue and LSD orange. Perforated with glitchy pops, or spores, these colours and the weave of the carpet, echo the pixelated world of <i>Alienarium</i>, 2022, and indeed the central force around which the exhibition revolves, <i>Metapanorama,</i> 2022.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Unlike the computery narrative of her VR works, <i>Metapanorama</i>, a 360-degree collage with a soundscape by Julien Perez, leaves more room for bodily meanderings. Working from the historical panorama - a mode of display that provides ‘an unbr</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">oken view of the whole region surrounding an observer’ - this self-referential wave juxtaposes grainy images of human and non-human beings, organic and architectural references. Aesthetically, the collage recalls <i>Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, </i>with Perez’s added burps of fragmented Teletubby noise give this staged meta-world a sense of lightness; furthering its lyrical capaciousness. As a narrative tool, the panorama isn't new to Gonzalez-Foerster. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">In 2019, her panoramic collage, <i>Volcanic Excursion (A Vision), </i>exhibited at Secessions (Vienna), used images of human beings as starting point to lay out a cosmology of the artist’s role models, friends, and influences, establishing a field of meaning for her practice at that moment. Here, the panoramic mode functions in much the same way, and when paired with another work situated in the exhibition’s central chamber, <i><span style="background-color: white;">Alienarium 5 (Bibliography), </span></i><span style="background-color: white;">2022,<i>Metapanorama </i></span>can be seen as a sun radiating life into different elements of the exhibition. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnr-dp72ApY5ZXf9cd5Tx-PpGRrIXDuXqzkep9sKn9G1_52dVcYIWES49S4DLR_AMmBBzbUDmtiCPKEqik9eQxeAl5sRiqmB0UgB70fLpJ8YnDiPGA42E5KBY1l6J85sOSdonRVx4jId-XaGF_AUhIMztN_RdAEI6iAq44kyUmGAa2a2Wdw67R_UoznQ/s1502/Metapanorama.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1001" data-original-width="1502" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnr-dp72ApY5ZXf9cd5Tx-PpGRrIXDuXqzkep9sKn9G1_52dVcYIWES49S4DLR_AMmBBzbUDmtiCPKEqik9eQxeAl5sRiqmB0UgB70fLpJ8YnDiPGA42E5KBY1l6J85sOSdonRVx4jId-XaGF_AUhIMztN_RdAEI6iAq44kyUmGAa2a2Wdw67R_UoznQ/w640-h426/Metapanorama.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13.800000190734863px; text-align: start;"><br />Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, Martial Galfione and Mike Gaughan, Metapanorama, 2022. Installation view, <i>Alienarium 5 </i>(Serpentine South, 14 April - 4 September 2022). Photo: Hugo Glendinning. © The artist and Serpentine, 2022.</span><span face="-webkit-standard" style="text-align: start;"></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Gonzalez-Foerster's use of the collage as a device through which to create ‘extraordinary apparitions’ not only lies in the realms of the purely visual. Throughout <i>Alienarium 5 </i>an expanded notion of collage is used to bring differing historical references, ideas, forms of life and modes of artmaking in contact with one another; to allow new possible beings to be dreamt. To me, it seems fitting that this idea of a new possible and the display of such dreamings lies in proximity to the historical site of the </span><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Albertopolis</span></i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> - the antiquated name for this historical area of South Kensington; the site of the 1851 <i>Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations, </i>where the spectacle of new other worlds was laid out for a hungry Victorian public to consume. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Tracing that sense of voyeuristic wonder through art-history, <span style="background-color: white;">Gonzalez-Foerster appears to take a stop at Marcel Duchamp’s <i>Étant donnés, </i>1946-66. In what is my favourite piece/planet in the solar system of <i>Alienarium 5, La Planète close (vision), </i>2021, riffs off the Duchampian <i>tableau vivant, </i>inviting, nay implicating me as a viewer in a surrealist multisensory quisicality. Peeping through one of the eye holes cut into a mute mint green MDF wall, I spy a bulge of bark sprouting forth from a blaze of auburn hair. At once glistening, luscious and smooth, the scene appears to conceal something writhing just off out of sight; something just or about to happen. The scene reminds me of some of Gonzalez-Foerster’s filmic works, <i>Cinema (QM.15),</i> 2016, or some of the music videos she has produced with Julien Perez, under the title Exotourisme. Without sound nor movement, the sense of liveness I gleam from my peeping arrives through the olfactory. Spritzed with a specially produced, Barnabé Fillion (Apra Studios), fragrance, <i>Alienflowers (holorium), </i>2022, provides a heady musk of fire and bean, cedar and fern, bracken just crunched. As with most fragrances, there is something beyond comprehension, to this sensorial encounter. For Gonzalez-Foerster, the pairing of the perfume and closeted space are meant to provoke a sense of edge, a seductive invitation to imagine possibilities beyond the chromatic universe rendered throughout <i>Alienarium 5</i>. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaX-2hr-7BU8DwVCE2xtwtyNqvS2Gz-pUCWU96jkL6g_juIEQX3JuqekFkZ9DR5WIdq7hierHtcnBFdiZc4oCHY_CBknRUMNO_IYrtQ-fc-RvXh-UryEGlCXoUd2g12XtAkRPzdEb_NLRfmX_a0rbzGvXTOg54cXt8KE1BA95CbN1qUEIutZUALtg2A/s1502/La%20plane%CC%80te%20close%20(vision),%202021..jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1001" data-original-width="1502" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaX-2hr-7BU8DwVCE2xtwtyNqvS2Gz-pUCWU96jkL6g_juIEQX3JuqekFkZ9DR5WIdq7hierHtcnBFdiZc4oCHY_CBknRUMNO_IYrtQ-fc-RvXh-UryEGlCXoUd2g12XtAkRPzdEb_NLRfmX_a0rbzGvXTOg54cXt8KE1BA95CbN1qUEIutZUALtg2A/w640-h426/La%20plane%CC%80te%20close%20(vision),%202021..jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13.800000190734863px; text-align: start;"><br />Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, Mélanie Gerbeaux and Barnabé Fillion (Arpa Studios) La planète close (vision), 2021. Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Chantal Crousel, Paris. Installation view, <i>Alienarium 5 </i>(Serpentine South, 14 April - 4 September 2022). Photo: Hugo Glendinning. © The artist and Serpentine, 2022.</span><span face="-webkit-standard" style="text-align: start;"></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Leaving the Serpentine, one more work holds me.<i> In remembrance of the coming alien (Alienor),</i> 2022, a sculptural collaboration with Paul B. Preciado, sprouts forth from the soil of Hyde Park, twisting like a tree root and forming what looks like a butterfly or a scientific diagram of a female sex. As an anthropomorphic sculpture with a pearlescent pink and yellow sheen, we are told the queer stature is more than a marker for something past, but a ‘portal, a site for transmission and an invitation to engage across time and space.’ Caught up in the curves of the work, I notice its surface dotted with ornately speckled ladybirds. Gorgeous: the ambivalence of nature. It's romantic. And I am back in my comfort zone. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white;">Toby Upson</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, <i>Alienarium 5<o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Serpentine South, London<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">until 4 September 2022<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VRXFUOoh7XQ51Ov31cx9kThBUShNcLcYKc5DwYHzBLAaQaERh40Q3VbkfzLME7W8E_P1EljKGyklawSPOT2Tb7XQt5nB432dI00SrHVFWj4QugqLm5hzTMO8xp2omz7eXBUCDTv-gzdXjUCwe69mrBPW3mTDskMUeGcllhLIyhzZvYCvgVrFpNrPyA/s1280/photo_2022-04-16_10-16-54.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8VRXFUOoh7XQ51Ov31cx9kThBUShNcLcYKc5DwYHzBLAaQaERh40Q3VbkfzLME7W8E_P1EljKGyklawSPOT2Tb7XQt5nB432dI00SrHVFWj4QugqLm5hzTMO8xp2omz7eXBUCDTv-gzdXjUCwe69mrBPW3mTDskMUeGcllhLIyhzZvYCvgVrFpNrPyA/w480-h640/photo_2022-04-16_10-16-54.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13.800000190734863px;"><br /> In remembrance of the coming alien (Alienor), </span></i><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 13.800000190734863px; text-align: start;">2022</span><span face="-webkit-standard" style="text-align: start;"></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica;"><br /><o:p><br /></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-52600114388216747522022-03-26T09:31:00.015+00:002022-03-26T09:59:52.792+00:00Putting the Fabulous into the Fantastical<p><i> <span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Alex Michon visits Fabulation at All Saints Cambridge</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">‘So’, I ask, genuinely intrigued, ‘What does <i>Fabulation </i>mean?’ Toby Upson, one of the four exhibiting artists in this show gives me the somewhat enigmatic answer, that it could be ‘Doing whatever you want, whenever you want to do it!’. <o:p></o:p></span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">‘It’s such a great word’ I reply, ‘With just a hint of camp about it’</span></p></blockquote><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Upson smiles knowingly but our conversation is cut short as he gets distracted by one of the many visitors to the show and I move on with the distinct impression that he has more to tell me. Subsequent online searches define it as, ‘the act of relating false or fantastic tales or in literary criticism; a style of modern fiction, similar to magical realism’ But more of this later.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">The exhibition’s venue, All Saints’ Church in Cambridge can truly be described as magical. Known as The Painted Church, designed by the architect G F Bodley around 1870 it is a notable example of both Gothic Revival and Arts and Crafts styles. This Grade 1 listed building ceased to be a place of worship in 1973 and has been under the care of the Churches Conservation Trust since 1981. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_w_9NMepJezjiEbZljxBFQKiXrNfxlbzW7aa8JH6raVSfqkxYXrSmWy9na8YvbOH4Easyh6_9GJzBjMOHvGNLTJFoubT5wMi2_uuuK49OGMdEODLF9jFaoNgA5IuqJizQ3zJdddOCdqDIfQ5NAkSMyNHLffQnWEIyVga0kyH4P4tJ-8CWeZchKgYJwA/s4724/48766159002_3d5031809f_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4724" data-original-width="4724" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_w_9NMepJezjiEbZljxBFQKiXrNfxlbzW7aa8JH6raVSfqkxYXrSmWy9na8YvbOH4Easyh6_9GJzBjMOHvGNLTJFoubT5wMi2_uuuK49OGMdEODLF9jFaoNgA5IuqJizQ3zJdddOCdqDIfQ5NAkSMyNHLffQnWEIyVga0kyH4P4tJ-8CWeZchKgYJwA/w640-h640/48766159002_3d5031809f_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br />Decoration in All Saints, Cambridge, photo Adrian Powter</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The church is noted for its ornate decorated interior; the painted wall and ceiling decorations, were applied by the Leach Studio (one of the team of artists was David Parr, whose modest but lavishly decorated house is open to the public in Cambridge) and feature Pomegranates bursting with seeds, flowers running riot, and the repeated use of religious symbolism such as the sacred monogram and the fleur-de-lys, and the stained-glass east window was designed by Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris and Ford Madox Brown. The church is now used for both worship and non-religious events, such as concerts and this, its first art exhibition.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">Thus, on one of the first gloriously spring Saturdays in March, I find myself at </span><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">Fabulation</i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">, interested to see how this mix of secular and sacred, old-school craft and contemporary art could possibly be played out. This two-for -one visual experience proves surprisingly serendipitous and a veritable treat for mind, eye, and dare I say soul.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUjOWYev4h-gg-sZorSrW5jhhbQ4lhJ0wmaBNRxJERoDH0RlK7dethymQUODBeHgDJJdE2ZEtmDznwnOjvZgPLsdoo3esR5hLjRRvq9TDt0miyUUbPjbh0a1Q9Sn1rLoQEZpeTdDJpsXkhpEtQxb23MLNUbUJQZ82YLquuF5jg6G0TU4SOJ5vOO8UtQ/s4724/Photo%20Adrian%20Powter_5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4724" data-original-width="4724" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUjOWYev4h-gg-sZorSrW5jhhbQ4lhJ0wmaBNRxJERoDH0RlK7dethymQUODBeHgDJJdE2ZEtmDznwnOjvZgPLsdoo3esR5hLjRRvq9TDt0miyUUbPjbh0a1Q9Sn1rLoQEZpeTdDJpsXkhpEtQxb23MLNUbUJQZ82YLquuF5jg6G0TU4SOJ5vOO8UtQ/w640-h640/Photo%20Adrian%20Powter_5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;"><i>Fabulation</i> at All Saints, Cambridge (with work by Luke Burton), photo Adrian Powter</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><p></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Each of the artist’s individual works responds to the venue in strikingly unexpected ways; subtly responding to the Painted Church without obviously calling attention to the mythologies therein, religious, or otherwise. Rather one must navigate the church’s interior coming across each new artist’s narratives in a cornucopic Alice in Wonderlandish fashion.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Toby Upson’s work in the exhibition is influenced by Oscar Wilde’s essay <i>The Soul of Man under Socialism </i>from<i> </i>1891. In it Wilde expounds a libertarian socialist worldview with a critique of charity. I was shocked that I had never heard of this Wildean work. Morris’s socialism is, of course, well known and it is typical of Upson that he took a sidestep from making the more obvious link with Morris, introducing, this viewer at least, with a hitherto unknown side to Wilde.</span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZEGYtc812IZ9bCkUK9rUup2aJvk8P0rTcIme2ZtXmSTe3LFS3ap9O5Vpp6K_hODNMPA_pQTtUr_uJv6FiMMf-Id65t7OJ4Y3Z_J2DZSfZzKc8_Gt_Z2NXXKtkhrteK77En9qForCm42dCImlxsl741CZOX-lY2jnx-24Ecrc6IR8DREkMF2Xp_nbVA/s2047/Photo%20Adrian%20Powter%20(2).jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2047" data-original-width="1545" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZEGYtc812IZ9bCkUK9rUup2aJvk8P0rTcIme2ZtXmSTe3LFS3ap9O5Vpp6K_hODNMPA_pQTtUr_uJv6FiMMf-Id65t7OJ4Y3Z_J2DZSfZzKc8_Gt_Z2NXXKtkhrteK77En9qForCm42dCImlxsl741CZOX-lY2jnx-24Ecrc6IR8DREkMF2Xp_nbVA/w485-h640/Photo%20Adrian%20Powter%20(2).jpeg" width="485" /></a><br /><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">Toby Upson, <i>cite Oscar Wilde (1891), 'The Soul of Man Under Socialism' (in the Painted Church)</i>, 2022, varying lengths of nay and gold print 12mm tape cassette ribbon tape, gold-coloured safety pins, and church kneelers, photo Adrian Powter</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Upson has taken snippets of text from the essay and printed them in gold on small blue satin ribbons which he has subtly attached to similarly coloured kneelers lined up in a pew at the entrance to the church. Once discovered, as they as so delicately and unobtrusively displayed, they sang to my soul! How wonderful, I thought, to have a remembrance of The Beatitudes with their original socialist intent in a church setting. These agitprop-like sayings such as, </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">‘The true perfection of man lies not in what man has, but in what man is’, ‘In consequence of the existence of the private property, a great many people are enabled to develop a certain very limited amount of individualism’ and, ‘In the present state of things[...] the people who do the most harm are the people who try to do the most good’, suggested to me, not only a subtle dig at establishment do-goodery, but the call to arms for individualism echoed Toby’s original brief of ‘doing what you want whenever you wanted to!’ </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TuY4KKP8usdyHnrBD522kCjQXxA1b4LKJ1KsSTpnfGmres2JOZ_cfiGC-sRkGM0zZvZy6TsxW0wDOoYaNz6KZx_VgxKtjY1BMhC-ozliIuDRhAOLdulktFgYGRM_IvoUo0vTulY-DTz3TLYwgGivPD6ugGvhGSNtCRtl3FR-jGatJoFW0GSrPcjk_Q/s2752/IMG_9796_2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1982" data-original-width="2752" height="461" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TuY4KKP8usdyHnrBD522kCjQXxA1b4LKJ1KsSTpnfGmres2JOZ_cfiGC-sRkGM0zZvZy6TsxW0wDOoYaNz6KZx_VgxKtjY1BMhC-ozliIuDRhAOLdulktFgYGRM_IvoUo0vTulY-DTz3TLYwgGivPD6ugGvhGSNtCRtl3FR-jGatJoFW0GSrPcjk_Q/w640-h461/IMG_9796_2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">Toby Upson, </span><i style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; font-family: -webkit-standard;">cite Oscar Wilde (1891), 'The Soul of Man Under Socialism' (in the Painted Church)</i><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">, </span><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">2022, varying lengths of nay and gold print 12mm tape cassette ribbon tape, gold-coloured safety pins, and church kneelers<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJLuwD0OXckM7FriyEqvDFLx3JZvm4B1rbIeqsy6DBBEcdLg39k0l0DNbFZy9J0bcjjpGVlrHFnlZV1_p7g12Qll-twCajbHYDDAWDYCY2Ws0hsNGq4kSQj8vcHiZl8tJs2yVH5x3ug_Y042OrQemCcS5FdxlpRFVj3jUuprSkR4YKxsx5waPUt7vfA/s4724/51957059036_3446df7b8a_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4724" data-original-width="4724" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJLuwD0OXckM7FriyEqvDFLx3JZvm4B1rbIeqsy6DBBEcdLg39k0l0DNbFZy9J0bcjjpGVlrHFnlZV1_p7g12Qll-twCajbHYDDAWDYCY2Ws0hsNGq4kSQj8vcHiZl8tJs2yVH5x3ug_Y042OrQemCcS5FdxlpRFVj3jUuprSkR4YKxsx5waPUt7vfA/w640-h640/51957059036_3446df7b8a_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">Luke Burton, </span><i style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">John Ruskin Surrounded by I Sores, </i><span style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">vitreous enamel on copper</span><span style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">, photo Adrian Powter </span><span style="text-align: start;"></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Luke Burton’s vitreous enamels on copper reminiscent of jewellery, archaeological fragments, miniature paintings and ex-voto offerings are little gem like finds surreptitiously and sometimes cheekily placed throughout various architectural niches within the church interior. The diminutive scale of these fictionally precious pieces, with their suggested critique of overblown grandness served as a respectful counterbalance to all the finery therein. </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">A cigarette in an ashtray found nestling in a pulpit, suggesting the vicar had had a quick drag of a fag, and a group of ne’er-do-well choristers atop the organ, were particular favourites, adding a maverick touch of ‘carry on up the cathedral’ humour to the event.</span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwNVO74MRJYkTrtPoDOw6NqwpdLwNV5PhggpULhsQ28COlPcGbUKu_O2YjsIhENpZn5tXPqsPZ0UvDgDTNUanIVkylz4WUQyQor1W7hG691OroE1OYtBiIoBF7SJNIEqHflXa3UcQmQU8nY-s9CFY-oxBpDYAoQB1r1NTOTAHuaxcSTEo6-oFtwPCWg/s3918/IMG_9748.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3918" data-original-width="2938" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwNVO74MRJYkTrtPoDOw6NqwpdLwNV5PhggpULhsQ28COlPcGbUKu_O2YjsIhENpZn5tXPqsPZ0UvDgDTNUanIVkylz4WUQyQor1W7hG691OroE1OYtBiIoBF7SJNIEqHflXa3UcQmQU8nY-s9CFY-oxBpDYAoQB1r1NTOTAHuaxcSTEo6-oFtwPCWg/w480-h640/IMG_9748.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">Luke Burton, <i>Choristers</i></span><i style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; font-family: -webkit-standard;">, </i><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">vitreous enamel on copper</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Cathy Lomax’s paintings, <i>Five Saints, </i>were made in response to the female saints depicted in the church’s stained-glass window. Lomax is known for her film paintings so her decision to cast her saints as film stars was no coincidence. </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Cinemas have often been compared to cathedrals with both suffering a similar trajectory of closures in the late 20th century. ‘Cinema had apostles. (It was like religion.)’ wrote Susan Sontag in ‘The Decay of Cinema’ in the </span><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">New York Times</i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">. Similarly, Camille Paglia in an article for the </span><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Smithsonian </i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">writes,</span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> My first moments of enchantment by beauty occurred in a church and a movie theatre. The interior of St Anthony of Padua church in Endicott, New York […] was lined with richly coloured stained-glass windows and niches holding life-size plaster statues of saints in sumptuous robes or silver armour. Paying no attention to the action on the altar, I would stare transfixed at those glorious figures, which seemed alive. At the theatre downtown, I was mesmerized by the colossal Technicolor images of Hollywood stars, who seemed as numinous as living gods.</span></p></blockquote><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDtTO6P0GDd7E0Qtp58raD1K8zMD5DbSupZXxu0snF6WZINn7w1lMKU4J1T2dN0p3BtrlOCtCs6Vna6xiG3guQNhaTBqPMS6xMMMyqfFswzMfUxYhsc1xWI2eH3GfpjZztoYvcgUiFjiWs1jYOLZMq57dfn5VVOjRiAEZUfXgZe4s9c9RvOSO9a0itw/s4032/IMG_9858.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDtTO6P0GDd7E0Qtp58raD1K8zMD5DbSupZXxu0snF6WZINn7w1lMKU4J1T2dN0p3BtrlOCtCs6Vna6xiG3guQNhaTBqPMS6xMMMyqfFswzMfUxYhsc1xWI2eH3GfpjZztoYvcgUiFjiWs1jYOLZMq57dfn5VVOjRiAEZUfXgZe4s9c9RvOSO9a0itw/w640-h480/IMG_9858.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #444444;">Cathy Lomax, <i>Saint Catherine</i>, 2022, oil on canvas, 60x45cm</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><p></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Lomax’s paintings highlight this celebratory equivalence of worship. As a cineaste her painter-as-casting-director choices are far from arbitrary. <i>St Catherine </i>(of Alexandria) is ‘played’ by Kiki Layne, the African American actress known for her recent appearance in <i>If Beale Street Could Talk</i>. This is an important re-education, as coming from Alexandria, Catherine would obviously have been dark skinned. In the stained-glass window she is depicted as a floaty Pre-Raphaelite muse with no regard to her cultural heritage. Catherine was reputed to have been martyred around the age of 18 for her conversion to Christianity and yet her historical existence has recently been disputed. In her book <i>The Cult of St Katherine of Alexandria in Early Medieval Europe</i>, Christine Walsh writes, ‘the cult of St Katherine of Alexandria originated in oral traditions from the 4<sup>th</sup> century persecutions of Christians in Alexandria. There is no evidence that Katherine herself was a historical figure and she may well have been a composite drawn from memories of women persecuted for their faith.’<i> </i>This historical mythmaking adds another interesting layer to Lomax’s saintly re-inventions. Accompanying her larger paintings Lomax has added some ex-voto offerings; smaller paintings located around the pews. These give further insights into the often-absurd things that the saints have become known for. For instance, <i>Hats for St Catherine </i>relates to the French tradition in which unwed women of 25, known as Catherinettes, wear richly decorated bonnets on the day of her feast. </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_aLaRjCA-mYE49wUbGZp4tRKF8k_378su0_4bxW4e9qoD4Poa3fAN4lmrld5WDNIaZn9-YfeGhNHC7TArB05Q4g8W--q2ZbVYaGgGPUd11thDteubmP0LFEN2OLr4_FfjtW2PVjhNIDxoo2hIUScKUJVhCXZ1Vo46dXU8fKCLlk2rxFGKi1pRYjpmg/s828/Photo%20Adrian%20Powter%20(1).jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_aLaRjCA-mYE49wUbGZp4tRKF8k_378su0_4bxW4e9qoD4Poa3fAN4lmrld5WDNIaZn9-YfeGhNHC7TArB05Q4g8W--q2ZbVYaGgGPUd11thDteubmP0LFEN2OLr4_FfjtW2PVjhNIDxoo2hIUScKUJVhCXZ1Vo46dXU8fKCLlk2rxFGKi1pRYjpmg/w640-h640/Photo%20Adrian%20Powter%20(1).jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">Cathy Lomax, </span><i style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444; font-family: -webkit-standard;">Ex-Votos for Saint Catherine (Eyes, Hats, Spiral Staircase)</i><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">, 2022, oil on card</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Ingrid Bergman, (who played a nun in the <i>Bells of St Marys </i>(1994) is the model for virgin and martyr <i>St Dorothy, </i>shown in her painting surrounded by flowers since she is the patron saint of gardeners. Although nothing akin to martyrdom, Bergman suffered a fair bit of persecution herself when she had an affair with the director Roberto Rossellini. The star was denounced on the floor of the US Senate, with senator Johnson saying that she had perpetrated ‘an assault on the institution of marriage’, and even calling her ‘a powerful influence for evil’. Lomax’s other saint translations are Linda Darnell as<i> St Barbara,</i> Kirsten Dunst as <i>St Agnes</i>, and Jennifer Jones (who played the eponymous saint <i>in The Song of Bernadette</i> (1943)) as <i>St Radegund</i>. Although ostensibly playful, these paintings embody a layering of both cultural and psychological signifiers. Without getting bogged down in quasi-religiosity they seem to speak about desire and a deep-seated ‘we are all of us in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars’ need to worship something unattainable, glorious, and miraculous. Lomax’s saints also contain a touch of latent proto-feminist appeal, her young women who have been chopped about, burnt and misogynistically murdered are here stripped of the tortuous garb of their horrific histories, portrayed instead as strong and independent women with often dreamy yet steely gazes.</span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYpsg0mB-pclozKJCPp_t6sU-hhCpGYaH6yDmYA46fakssRP2gTl7yu1jdgYyiZuZDt8CwVhpZvKxdkrEpIDdcfK5gsJDPyonZh9defdIGyxJxA27BN2gu_TS2EUMEzHPRBdrjUEYQ68E4LQCSMqVdngzc4pSszCheHOjYwz5p35Ju2ju_OnjGeGSoQ/s4724/51943402767_86b08fc75c_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4724" data-original-width="4724" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYpsg0mB-pclozKJCPp_t6sU-hhCpGYaH6yDmYA46fakssRP2gTl7yu1jdgYyiZuZDt8CwVhpZvKxdkrEpIDdcfK5gsJDPyonZh9defdIGyxJxA27BN2gu_TS2EUMEzHPRBdrjUEYQ68E4LQCSMqVdngzc4pSszCheHOjYwz5p35Ju2ju_OnjGeGSoQ/w640-h640/51943402767_86b08fc75c_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">Jennifer Caroline Campbell, (<i>Satellite) Prancing Deity Offering Bowl, Azure Valley, Eastern Region 2680-2715 CE</i>, paper pulp, acrylic paint, plaster, clay, wire mesh, pendant, sand, neoprene, string, silk clay, diamond shaped rock, photo Adrian Powter </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 8pt; text-align: start;"> </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Cambridge native Jennifer Caroline Campbell was one of the prime movers in getting this exhibition to fruition. In briefly describing her <i>Azzurian Worlds </i>works to me at the exhibtion Campbell stated that ‘fictional seemed like a way to go with Utopian thinking which, for me, was better than the political’. For Campbell, making things with her hands is a way of developing and re-shaping ideas. The hand-painted walls at All Saints Church were the starting points for <i>Azzurian Worlds.</i></span><i style="font-size: 11pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Campbell describes the painted walls as ‘wearing a multitude of traces, which embody past human gesture, and form an encasing lattice surround’. Thinking about who had made the work, about the perceived differences between high and domestic craft, about Morris’s longing for a Utopian society led Campbell to invent her own utopian society, <i>Azure Valley, </i>which occurs around the 27th century in an undisclosed isolated location. </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Her decorative brightly coloured sculptural pieces stand in as artefacts from the Valley which have survived to tell their story. <i>Azure Valley </i>is imagined as a matriarchal society, therefore many of her artefacts are displayed within feminised cup like holders. A particular favourite was a tiny silver horse in a bright blue bowl ‘Ah yes’ she says as I mention it, ‘that symbolises the way horses represent something wild and yet also tamed’.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">I also ask about the significance of what seem like ornate bishop’s croziers which are placed vertically across the pews. These she describes as a counterbalance to the masculine verticality so redolent in churches. Campbell cites Perkins Gillman’s visionary yet flawed and problematic novel <i>Herland</i> (1915) as partly inspiring her work, along with other texts such as <i>The Yellow Wallpaper</i> by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1892) and <i>Uses of the Erotic</i> by Audre Lorde (1978). Knowing the highly theoretical backstories to Campbell’s works belies the sheer visual enjoyment of the pieces themselves in all their glorious gloopiness and delicacy. Since the ravages of time have not tainted their exuberant colours, Campbell has gloriously put the fabulous into the fantastical! </span><i style="font-size: 11pt;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkwy1ZiP8FfVkKDoDWbQHPPZLVSTrZGvbPpiXkoML48wMmBvJQAvEqJPrCPgOoRrF96fKjnbTeueHa_CdN3NOTIkpexxptemgCmUbynoqpTy-Vt90s7MIVummbrgwqNL5_G0hQfjMiGM8r0YGD2ZyZewqBp4IN0Pw1cna8NxWtuClw-sDNtyJtTPgyA/s4032/IMG_9795.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYkwy1ZiP8FfVkKDoDWbQHPPZLVSTrZGvbPpiXkoML48wMmBvJQAvEqJPrCPgOoRrF96fKjnbTeueHa_CdN3NOTIkpexxptemgCmUbynoqpTy-Vt90s7MIVummbrgwqNL5_G0hQfjMiGM8r0YGD2ZyZewqBp4IN0Pw1cna8NxWtuClw-sDNtyJtTPgyA/w480-h640/IMG_9795.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span face="-webkit-standard" style="caret-color: rgb(68, 68, 68); color: #444444;">Jennifer Caroline Campbell, <i>Staff with Pomegranate Decoration, Azure Valley, Southern Region 2680-2715 CE</i>, paper pulp, acrylic paint, plaster, clay, bamboo, wire, sand, neoprene, string, plastic ring, sea sponge, jasmine tea </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 8pt; text-align: start;"> </span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Back to Fabulation, other meanings of the word are informed by the writings of Saidiya Hartman who introduced the idea of </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">‘</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">critical fabulation’, signifying a writing methodology that combines historical and archival research with critical theory and fictional narrative. It also relates to Robert Scholes 1967 novel <i>The Fabulators</i>which has some relationship to science fiction and has been described as taking flight from accepted ‘realistic’ fictional concepts, dislocating time and space and purposely blurring lines between the actual and the artificial.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">All the artists in this exhibition have in their own way made thoughtful, often startling responses not only to the magnificent church interior but to the very interesting word chosen to corral the overall concept. Within the world of jazz when a musician is deemed to have played or sung something exceptionally well the phrase ‘they just took it to church’ is used, I cite it here as an epitaph for this show.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Alex Michon <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Fabulation<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Toby Upson, Cathy Lomax, Jennifer Caroline Campbell, Luke Burton<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">All Saints Church, Cambridge<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">17 - 31 March 2022<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Open Weds to Sunday 12-4pm (until 6pm on Thurs and Fri)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="Body" style="border: none; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-78885604726945766642022-02-09T10:13:00.007+00:002022-02-09T10:15:39.302+00:00Glenn Ligon: An Open Letter<p><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><i>This ain't no review. No poem, nor essay. It's chattar (sic).</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Addressed to the particular but shared to and amongst a wider public. An open letter. A form often pertaining to some kinda social, some kinda political, rousing; “their reading doesn’t open up through metaphors,” as we are told, rather, potential meaning arrives when we sit with-and-in the failure of the social and political systems they address. That is, meaning (becoming-) arrives when certain <i>doxa</i> and values are suspended. Frozen in the air.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicb-qk8rziBUCbY65WJvNGnUnQRzgMF2LhOjRueZs_Ig0huTkdiXcUn6PLDWWbt6xM2sLP9YAsWnGUcEszoenW2Vkn5QCKH1C3oYGi6fEMMBOTiNoxHFsk47xoYVyU07UPzhT_n2Waek3s_FC6gCaf3EZPUuGRnV2xJgnVn5LFxC-al-BDoiKA95Lb0A=s2581" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="2581" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicb-qk8rziBUCbY65WJvNGnUnQRzgMF2LhOjRueZs_Ig0huTkdiXcUn6PLDWWbt6xM2sLP9YAsWnGUcEszoenW2Vkn5QCKH1C3oYGi6fEMMBOTiNoxHFsk47xoYVyU07UPzhT_n2Waek3s_FC6gCaf3EZPUuGRnV2xJgnVn5LFxC-al-BDoiKA95Lb0A=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Shadowy debris, scattered over a flat ground. Or frozen in the air. The paintings included in Glenn Ligon’s exhibition, <i>An Open Letter </i>at Thomas Dane Gallery, break with his previous language-based paintings. Instead of pressing meaning through the content of essays, poems, or aphorisms, here the form of individual phoneme, the smallest sounds in a language - L 1 T P 9 0 I i M . V 8 J - becomes content. Becom(e mean)ing itself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Dodging, ducking, in a candescent glow, moving through the space of display, two large fields of pulsating red acrylic cast the small glimmers of sound cascading down their surface into space. At first, the two appear as echoes; the common tone in their notes stretched like shadows. But, though Ligon’s print-paintings, echoes and shadows aren’t echoes and shadows; more like shared rhythms. Like the groundless jives of noise shared by players of jazz. Tuning in, each gutty note and notation falling from on the canvases, each thick high and washy low, warps and wains in its own way; just like players of jazz, each with their own eck, mmmm, ooo, and calamitous scream. Alone-together, here, atmospherics is surface. Content. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Language fails to express so much. Ligon himself knows this and has “laboured to uncover the essence of language.” Entitled <i>Debris Field, </i>the series from which the works in <i>An Open Letter </i>are drawn shatter syntax in order to undermine the pervasiveness of value given to something that is merely a socially dictated agreement. Language. Out of the wreckage of this shattering, this rhythmic stammering, “the possibility of meaning, the elements of meaning” arise. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Room two. Four works. Two pairs scat in double duet. Again, the same notes, different eck, mmmm, ooo, and calamitous scream. No dramatic glow, just grey-black patta on paper-white ground. Mu. Moments of enunciation in and as themselves, or figures within acts of speech. The joy arising from Ligon’s layers of silkscreen and oil stick lies in his debasement of systemic meanings. Meanings held too wilfully as fixed, syntactic truth. No fences, no borders, just flows between figures on and beyond some ground. Joy seen here is in free-flow, eye could say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Eck, mmmm, ooo, and calamitous scream. This is not a review. No poem, nor essay. Its chattar (sic). My rousing sic chattar.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Toby Upson</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Glenn Ligon,<i> An Open Letter </i><br />Thomas Dane Gallery, London <br />until 2 April 2022</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-5609942496635985282021-07-18T15:58:00.006+01:002021-07-18T16:07:03.938+01:00Turner @ Tate<p><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Toby Upson visits Turner's Modern World at Tate Britain and notices connections to Rothko's Seagram murals which are now also installed at the gallery.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">It is rare that the cool air swirling around a Victorian painting gallery adds something romantic to the works pinned, steadfast, to their often colour-block walls. But here I am, sitting on a rather welcoming bench, taking in both art-work and air-con. Specifically, I am in Tate Britain (the</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">Turner’s Modern World</i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">exhibition), looking at a rich mushroom wall, and Philip James de Louthbourg’s</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">The Battle of the Nile, </i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">1800, whilst a dead whirring of electrified air reverberates about me. In front of this particularly crisp image, with the sound of treated air rushing into the enclosed gallery, I am enamoured by something particularly atmospheric. Moved by something harrow in its formal hollowness.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Drama lies in action, and as I sit, feel, taking in de Louthbourg’s painting, I am left thinking about the stories not told, or rather those possibilities that are foreclosed, in this high-sea battle scene. De Louthbourg’s is an allegorical work - a modern history painting: crashing about the foreground little dinghies helplessly drift, manned by a hodgepodge crew of ship mates and masters; framed by battleships, the core of the composition is dominated by an eruption, a blaze, through which we are just able to discern a shadow of a ship’s mast within the vortex of white-hot flames and plumes of smoke. It seems fitting that such a powerful visual record of this ‘crucial British victory’ over the French (as described in the display caption), is executed in such a definitive manner. Personally, it is as if the weight of the finish is meant to recall or mirror the weight of nationalist pride felt amongst ‘Great Britons’ upon reading about this important win that secured the Mediterranean and re-affirmed British sea power. Action is deployed here, in other words, to propagandic affect.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfA3s7rVYvsnmi_NtOf5GXx3W1qOVvLI_impH_UbYS_gQkLklClAj-blx1wY8NHZpxryllqEZFn-FiGeOhHgFDh8oblMgv0cw3EH3orsMXjcVv6wXoA9eeRBJO2Se7hEiZX-gh7jRNo5DP/s1098/1_Philip+James+de+Loutherbourg+-+The+Battle+of+the+Nile.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="776" data-original-width="1098" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfA3s7rVYvsnmi_NtOf5GXx3W1qOVvLI_impH_UbYS_gQkLklClAj-blx1wY8NHZpxryllqEZFn-FiGeOhHgFDh8oblMgv0cw3EH3orsMXjcVv6wXoA9eeRBJO2Se7hEiZX-gh7jRNo5DP/w400-h283/1_Philip+James+de+Loutherbourg+-+The+Battle+of+the+Nile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />Philip James de Loutherbourg, <i>The Battle of the Nile</i>, 1800, oil on canvas</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">De Louthbourg’s patriotic scene apparently had a profound influence on Joseph Mallord William Turner, leading to his first paintings of modern warfare (although Turner’s direct response to this painting, exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1799, cannot now be traced). Indeed, de Louthbourg’s use of brilliant colour, to add astute highlights to areas of action<i> </i>within the composition - areas such as rip-roaring flames in the glimpsable distance - recalls those touches of white, zinc, and bold primary colours used by Turner to evoke a sense of deep awe within his later works (<i>War. The Exile and the Rock Limpet</i>, c.1842, is a case in point). Unlike de Louthbourg, whose use of contrasting hues render this newsworthy battle spectacular, Turner uses colour accoutrements to enhance the sublimity of his subject matter. In other words, colour is what gives Turner access to romance. Indeed, it is colour under Tuner's hand that lets loose possibilities.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1JCerlryTxhu_ZoH37pmiicTghfRG-W6fuDCit6cJdiDvp4B8GSiMrm9HWwFO4h8uw5Jy7MpeoZj6u4jthcVi9W1BIf8uJznF6MmrV8Iak4DKdsgmlfYo8HECq5eaVNIr75vMBnLuHhK/s1536/2_Joseph+Mallord+William+Turner+-+War.+The+Exile+and+the+Rock+Limpet.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1529" data-original-width="1536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1JCerlryTxhu_ZoH37pmiicTghfRG-W6fuDCit6cJdiDvp4B8GSiMrm9HWwFO4h8uw5Jy7MpeoZj6u4jthcVi9W1BIf8uJznF6MmrV8Iak4DKdsgmlfYo8HECq5eaVNIr75vMBnLuHhK/s320/2_Joseph+Mallord+William+Turner+-+War.+The+Exile+and+the+Rock+Limpet.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />Joseph Mallord Turner, <i>War. The Exile and the Rock Limpet</i>, 1842, oil on canvas</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">As a curator I am a big lover of serendipity, I thrill off the spontaneous, superfluous, and sometimes superficial connections between things (those who know me will recognise my skittish pull to eke the meta out if everything). Prior to opening the <i>Turner’s Modern World</i> exhibition, Tate set about rehanging and moving some of its 'masterpieces' further down the Thames. Dislodged from their position in Tate Modern, Mark Rothko's <i>Seagram Murals - </i>large weepy canvases composed from hazy rectangles of red and maroon, that, to quote <a href="http://garagelandmagazine.blogspot.com/2020/10/and-rothko.html">Jennifer Campbell’s Garageland review</a> of the works, ‘overlap and hover [...] creating a new colour that [ones] eye cannot fix’<span class="MsoFootnoteReference" style="vertical-align: super;"> </span>- now sit in the older of the Tate siblings.<span style="color: red;"> </span>Positioned next to, and curated as to be in conversation with, a free display of yet more Turner's (part of the <i>Turner Bequest</i>), I am a little lost as to the language the two artists are conversing in, aside from jubilant praise from Jr to Sr Modernist.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4MYlVx5IadR7Iu4sl6i_t4wJA585PalywQCq1avdT28YGHdKsEwCIYu0ITprEK3oAzNQtkBAzXrMg1umXWtiDRJVEXjXJ3-W4sj3KGqZo6gAi0dehGK4ZP4Tu-SRafNn4o5cY1eUqSSL/s659/3_Maquette+for+installation+of+Seagram+murals+at+Tate+Gallery+1970.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="659" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4MYlVx5IadR7Iu4sl6i_t4wJA585PalywQCq1avdT28YGHdKsEwCIYu0ITprEK3oAzNQtkBAzXrMg1umXWtiDRJVEXjXJ3-W4sj3KGqZo6gAi0dehGK4ZP4Tu-SRafNn4o5cY1eUqSSL/w400-h261/3_Maquette+for+installation+of+Seagram+murals+at+Tate+Gallery+1970.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Maquette for installation of Mark Rothko's Seagram </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">murals at Tate gallery, 1970</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">More than just a pairing of formalist romantics, who sought to break with the old through chromatic affect, this later, free, exhibition had for me more of a resonance than the 'blockbuster' that is <i>Turner’s Modern World</i>. Perhaps this is due to curatorial intent:<i> Turner’s Modern World </i>is framed as a historical survey, ‘examin[ing] what is meant to be a modern artist during Turner's lifetime’, whilst the conversation between Rothko and Turner is one of deep admiration and personal resonance - Rothko gave his <i>Seagram Murals</i> to the Tate<i></i>because of the wonder and respect he had for his predecessor's work.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Like any good discourse, these two exhibitionary conversations add so much and reward each other. Or rather, I should say that the insights gained from the historical survey enlivened the Rothko-Turner discussion for me. For example, we soon learn from <i>Turner’s Modern World</i> that the artist wasn't much 'good' at figurative work: the people who dot his early allegorical and genre paintings lack a liturgical festering; they seem more blob-like, banal, than active agents in a story - just like those naive figures in Rothko’s early canvases. Indeed, as with Rothko, as Turner's career ticks on, the figures in his compositions dissolve like a mist into the eerie scenes that beautifully haunt the <i>Turner Bequest </i>- the unfinished oils left in the painter's studio, such as <i>Norham Castle, Sunrise, </i>c.1845, are perhaps some of the strongest works in either of the Tate displays. This is not to say that the 'best' of Turner's paintings are purely surface - like a Rothko - works such as <i>Slave Ship (Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying, Typhoon Coming On), </i>1840, and <i>Peace - Burial at sea</i>, 1842, have an intoxicating narrative within their composition, inviting prolonged engagement and moral rumination through their choice use of figuration and pools of transcending colour. There is nothing propagandic about these evocative scenes, they suggest subtly, with the harrowing quality of their lament lying in the cataclysmic drama unfurling within us viewers.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94uwqM4Z-pMIpWom6IPpT_IYv4mi7EbEwfs-zvGKwuks9gHgYpKNtoO1wXoyAlOtTBMUD8spzJqROhuGRReObBJDF4MWot9o5sIwb3zZAsw_u2YqX9NxpD1xHUsu1k1JVmcd0rvvMxoMi/s1600/4_Joseph+Mallord+William+Turner+-+Slave+Ship_Slavers+Throwing+Overboard+the+Dead+and+Dying+Typhoon+Coming+On.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1195" data-original-width="1600" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94uwqM4Z-pMIpWom6IPpT_IYv4mi7EbEwfs-zvGKwuks9gHgYpKNtoO1wXoyAlOtTBMUD8spzJqROhuGRReObBJDF4MWot9o5sIwb3zZAsw_u2YqX9NxpD1xHUsu1k1JVmcd0rvvMxoMi/w400-h299/4_Joseph+Mallord+William+Turner+-+Slave+Ship_Slavers+Throwing+Overboard+the+Dead+and+Dying+Typhoon+Coming+On.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Joseph Mallord Turner, <i>Slave Ship (Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying, Typhoon Coming On)</i>, 1840, oil on canvas<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCDv6a-RW6XJvF0r7y18KtEmgnDcEhrQN5vAP83_2U6OQvBeFn7Gzhy0mSZT9huLbAb_3Cmbdtjy1m2wnyR-FPKl0_8jDh425gDNG_n7wNXk4btjQlTlN9QWptADzvCBx7Csakkjz85Yc/s1536/5_Mark+Rothko+-+Red+on+Maroon.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1388" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCDv6a-RW6XJvF0r7y18KtEmgnDcEhrQN5vAP83_2U6OQvBeFn7Gzhy0mSZT9huLbAb_3Cmbdtjy1m2wnyR-FPKl0_8jDh425gDNG_n7wNXk4btjQlTlN9QWptADzvCBx7Csakkjz85Yc/s320/5_Mark+Rothko+-+Red+on+Maroon.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mark Rothko, <i>Red on Maroon</i>, 1959, oil on canvas</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">And on that note, where better to turn for a 'modern' point of conversation than Rothko's ecstatic tomb. Originally commissioned for the Four Seasons restaurant in New York, the <i>Seagram Murals </i>perfectly encapsulate the modernist spirit embodied by Rothko: <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/visit/tate-britain/display/turner-collection/mark-rothko-seagram-murals">‘I am interested only in expressing basic human emotions – tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on.’</a> It is of note that Rothko subsequently pulled this commission two years after receiving it in 1960, as his<a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/visit/tate-britain/display/turner-collection/mark-rothko-seagram-murals"> ‘ambitions for the works grew, [and] he no longer saw the restaurant as an appropriate location for his paintings.’</a> It was following this move that he gifted the series to Tate in 1969. Personally, sitting with this Rothko series recalls that feeling of sitting with de Louthbourg; the entombing installation feels like another form of scripted address: ‘one must feel, feel the sublimity of your emotions.’ In this way, rather than inviting romantic reflection, the <i>Seagram Murals </i>dictate <i>a </i>subjective state in order to cause affect. To me this runs counter to Turner’s romantic ideas, where even the subtlest action invites subjective speculation – complicating the ‘basic’ in Rothko’s ‘basic human emotions.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">If New York's mid to late 1900 modernity played out in high-rise hotels, the modern world Turner was working through was very much the high seas. Indeed, instead of the secular church of the dining hall, Turner's faith lies in the sun, the sky, and the storms of the world - aspects of his life narrated for us in Tate's <i>Turner’s Modern World</i>. The earthly dramas captured by Turner, via his lush mists of colour, do not so much push for a self-referential search for ‘basic human emotion’ - as Rothko seeks - but invite romantic rumination, freeing, in their dispersed nature, polyphonic possibilities. Just as the cool-air of the painting gallery slowed me down to contemplate the shallow script of de Louthbourg’s battle, so to the audible winds rushing through Turner's later, unbounded, work whistle a hollow tune - a romantic call asking for a response.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14.666666984558105px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14.666666984558105px;">Toby Upson</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc8nyq81oGc4WW6lp6Dw9-PxsZ9ydQelKIQn7C9VpFVbMboERIzPFxzwtBan89YJ4YPgbzVVVMs8Dk7P5EC_sWdRmjMH84UFdnQH-uT_BFxk6U0SDc5xrqtDkfIlLNqydxU0h0nfkGrptH/s1536/6_Joseph+Mallord+William+Turner+-+Sunrise+with+a+Boat+between+Headlands.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="1536" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc8nyq81oGc4WW6lp6Dw9-PxsZ9ydQelKIQn7C9VpFVbMboERIzPFxzwtBan89YJ4YPgbzVVVMs8Dk7P5EC_sWdRmjMH84UFdnQH-uT_BFxk6U0SDc5xrqtDkfIlLNqydxU0h0nfkGrptH/w400-h300/6_Joseph+Mallord+William+Turner+-+Sunrise+with+a+Boat+between+Headlands.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Joseph Mallord Turner, <i>Sunrise with a Boat between Headlands</i>, 1840-45, oil on canvas</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqg3TjhzSdEwpIdKXI1K45yqJWAKIhSWPZmmNpIPIEL8GZMztYxATiZWWgrrzOPRwULxvZouzD4YkJZrps1pYMQDMcCDPFwJkJLDda9FKQv8M2SW5UUOABNLJquKZVUd6h2SrchjY_7_NB/s1536/7_Joseph+Mallord+William+Turner+-+Norham+Castle+Sunrise.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1536" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqg3TjhzSdEwpIdKXI1K45yqJWAKIhSWPZmmNpIPIEL8GZMztYxATiZWWgrrzOPRwULxvZouzD4YkJZrps1pYMQDMcCDPFwJkJLDda9FKQv8M2SW5UUOABNLJquKZVUd6h2SrchjY_7_NB/w400-h295/7_Joseph+Mallord+William+Turner+-+Norham+Castle+Sunrise.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Joseph Mallord Turner, <i>Norham Castle, Sunrise,</i> 1845, oil on canvas</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">Turner’s Modern World </span></i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br />Tate Britain, London <br />until 12 September 2021.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.866666793823242px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"> </span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-76711495797834126672021-07-16T10:15:00.001+01:002021-07-16T10:25:30.560+01:00Linder Sterling - Bower of Bliss Performances<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmd4PKKUlr6lWzcb5FkWZzSikV2Ac_tsYgi3dEPWqqO0XCx9gl9DQ3Y-6t8oS626573nBRt8iFKsTxNV6l3iydH79IrtW8RMOAWTjqihHlRR4yDnbYrOFsf4hLuaEgmef6vZQfrIQH4uV/s2048/Linder+-+Press+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmd4PKKUlr6lWzcb5FkWZzSikV2Ac_tsYgi3dEPWqqO0XCx9gl9DQ3Y-6t8oS626573nBRt8iFKsTxNV6l3iydH79IrtW8RMOAWTjqihHlRR4yDnbYrOFsf4hLuaEgmef6vZQfrIQH4uV/w400-h266/Linder+-+Press+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">‘The BBC were due to film the 11.30 performance, but they've been delayed’, says a</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">member of the Liverpool Biennial staff. There are other concerns. ‘We're just checking the sound levels’, says a voice nearby. No sooner have these words been uttered, than a sombre wash of pre-recorded strings signals the beginning. Two theatrically clad dancers stride in funereal slow motion towards a marked-off performance space...</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">Against a backdrop of uniform brick, Linder Sterling's</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">Bower of Bliss </i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">mural blooms into life; its joyous crimsons, pinks and magentas foregrounded.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">KEEP A BOWER QUIET FOR US; a</i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">recent text overlay by Kajsa Ståhl cites Keats'</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">Endymion: A Poetic Romance</i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">. In a busy weekend shopping thoroughfare, we're summoned to a place of sanctuary, with its abundant poetry of magic, enchantment & transformation.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">This specially commissioned work forms part of</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">The Stomach And The Port</i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">, the final chapter of the 2021 Liverpool Biennial, curated by Manuela Moscoso. In addition, a series of performances - or</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> '</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">sense activations'</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">, as Sterling describes them, form part of a series of weekend events across the city, marking the Biennial's conclusion.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">The term</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">sense activation</span><i style="text-align: justify;"> </i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">seems apt, reflecting the aspirations of an artist who sometimes appears frustrated by the limitations of the picture frame. In recent years, Sterling has sought to create collaborative pieces inhabiting three-dimensional space; itself part of a wider desire to explore realms of sense beyond the purely visual. With this in mind, a company of musicians, dancers, and costume designers is on hand, well versed at playing to their own and each other's strengths.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">Her son Maxwell, composer, double bass player and sound designer, though not in attendance, is musically present via a pre-recorded soundtrack. His layered textures are enhanced by live stylings supplied by Kenichi Iwasa, seated on a carpet, surrounded by an array of unorthodox musical instruments. While most spectators lining the opposite wall could be described as 'art crowd', there's also a smattering of weekend shoppers more than happy to be drawn into the piece's more contemplative time frames.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">The two dancers, Lauren Fitzpatrick and Kirstin Alexandra Halliday, seem, at times, like spirits torn between breaking free of constraint, or pursuing an elusive union. Fitzpatrick's performance, by turns, more solar, fiery, playful and insouciant, Halliday's more cool, lunar, angular and cryptic. Their costumes, designed by Louise Gray, channel strong colour themes within the mural – the reds in Fitzpatrick's picking up the florid foregrounds, the whites & blacks in Halliday's transmitting the more diffuse, contrasting elements.</span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVBwf14C9sSuVo4NtbTLVxCGsWQZ1Tlyv7Jx3PhwbXK-k1ew2cMGPkDfdfLOLsGElSgqGCzevt1A4CA4ZVBMeeGVx9C1s-QxqpbFLXW1q_ckCARyh_FzU_uc3sorA9SDJVjpxuM1iebK_/s2048/Linder+-+Press+1+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFVBwf14C9sSuVo4NtbTLVxCGsWQZ1Tlyv7Jx3PhwbXK-k1ew2cMGPkDfdfLOLsGElSgqGCzevt1A4CA4ZVBMeeGVx9C1s-QxqpbFLXW1q_ckCARyh_FzU_uc3sorA9SDJVjpxuM1iebK_/w400-h266/Linder+-+Press+1+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">The stage props, an ironing board with iron, recall Sterling's late 70s</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">oeuvre</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">, with its confining domestic spaces. Clasping the iron to her ear like a telephone, Fitzpatrick's grin replicates not only grinning mouths within the mural, but those of an entire timeline; one of several repeat motifs evident within the</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">Bower of Bliss</i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="text-align: justify;">(alongside whorls of rose petals, cosmetics, bird heads in profile, glamour models – all repurposed from their original sources and contexts). Yet, for this reviewer at least, there's never a feeling of jadedness when encountering these elements in Sterling's work.</span></span></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">At one point during the second performance, the man from the BBC finally arrives. He shoots a few frames before disappearing in search of the next story. Over at a nearby coffee chain they're counting customers in and out, but meanwhile, in a performance space now strewn with flowers, the two dancers join hands and take a bow...</span></p><p><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">William Garvin </span></span></p><p><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Linder At <i>Bower of Bliss</i> <br />Liverpool Biennial<br />19 June 2021</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1307843164587915435.post-63278816137175911962021-05-25T16:18:00.006+01:002021-05-25T16:24:52.630+01:00Fairy Tale Yin and Yang<p><i><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Cathy Lomax visits two new shows at the Hayward Gallery which are situated at opposite ends of a fairy tale thread.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Matthew Barney’s <i>Redoubt</i>, a film and a series of sculptures and copper wall pieces, is dark with a luxuriously sinister veneer. In the dimly lit downstairs gallery <i>Cosmic Hunt</i>, a huge steel sculpture cast from a charred and debarked tree with added wolf pelt, sits on a tripod. It is a gun/phallus cocked and ready to fire. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOV45lN7CuxF7K2KiKuzmLIFTIA_wFggF6EFDt9qxDRkJpOpe94OqjVexSHThdLUG3Hj2RZSrQBCOPQXPoVmG_SLHEuAwvdlTBVJJ1I0d1coXyzRsYGmZaKjBFguVOrHM7oFXlFlJdBw22/s2048/90A68A56-2914-4997-8551-D88A782830CE.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOV45lN7CuxF7K2KiKuzmLIFTIA_wFggF6EFDt9qxDRkJpOpe94OqjVexSHThdLUG3Hj2RZSrQBCOPQXPoVmG_SLHEuAwvdlTBVJJ1I0d1coXyzRsYGmZaKjBFguVOrHM7oFXlFlJdBw22/w400-h300/90A68A56-2914-4997-8551-D88A782830CE.heic" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Matthew Barney, <i>Cosmic Hunt,</i> 2020, cast stainless steel<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIsCYwmbQopebjNsG366KBCltQuL7nG5P7i0j1wm7ch3M8Z1LcZ23LonQeqX6O_0xzLOUQX3iJNbiiZ1WDRVEo7NO7NT1Ew1yXnq-rdLMpaUS4nhaLcTxVnw2eT6ViQtIPdGGhg0IHYyN/s2048/CDAA39C9-51EC-4AD8-8622-F8FF46A3E8EA.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIsCYwmbQopebjNsG366KBCltQuL7nG5P7i0j1wm7ch3M8Z1LcZ23LonQeqX6O_0xzLOUQX3iJNbiiZ1WDRVEo7NO7NT1Ew1yXnq-rdLMpaUS4nhaLcTxVnw2eT6ViQtIPdGGhg0IHYyN/w400-h300/CDAA39C9-51EC-4AD8-8622-F8FF46A3E8EA.heic" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">This is framed by a series of highly polished copper plates, etched with forest scenes, shimmering under their spotlights like vulgar symbols of ostentatious wealth. Above on the mezzanine is the centrepiece – a huge screen showing Barney’s film in which camo-clad dancing hunters chase down and kill a wolf in the snowy mountain wilderness of Idaho, while an engraver in his studio spins an artist’s (played by Barney) observations into copper etchings. Wolves, forests and mythology evokes <i>The Company of Wolves</i> (1984) and continuing the British filmic fairy tale theme there is a visual thread that connects the dancing engraver with Robert Helpmann’s shoemaker from the sublime <i>The Red Shoes </i>(1948). But this is the macho American wilderness and not the claustrophobic female world of dark European fantasy. The wolves here are not hairy on the inside, instead they are hunted and skinned and disempowered. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRLJtXtlk8UQEnBzne7X3huQBpI8fpgYiG0AKdE4cJYC4E15xq-uG-UpGMBgk4BaSyjeklKBzbCVmXaqfwcMpwEjOYcNpZsSUgO97ree1xybbg7IbMILd_GT5j537JqKOok34x1wp5J0vA/s1000/redoubt-matthew-barney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRLJtXtlk8UQEnBzne7X3huQBpI8fpgYiG0AKdE4cJYC4E15xq-uG-UpGMBgk4BaSyjeklKBzbCVmXaqfwcMpwEjOYcNpZsSUgO97ree1xybbg7IbMILd_GT5j537JqKOok34x1wp5J0vA/w400-h240/redoubt-matthew-barney.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Matthew Barney, <i>Redoubt</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Barney’s exposition does initially have atmosphere, but this is melted away by its over-production, the digital hyper-real clarity of the film and the impossibly shiny copper plates, quash the dark mood, infiltrating it with corporate blandness as stylistic refinement segues into empty detachment. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThbXyJcwaYJLyp6pJWoNSc_mXXzKQbHIBTD5rD-WOeMNAxXo8xCTEgExpQjJ-VJaNKDP0zuGrs3wZUlknzoopOuL1bsw-uMPlBA0zjeRHP-WsnZu__QaXg-a3ZrH8Ui0N0GZwrpZPtcD7/s2048/11+Installation+view+of+Matthew+Barney_+Redoubt+at+Hayward+Gallery%252C+2021+%25C2%25A9+Matthew+Barney%252C+2021.+Photo_+Mark+Blower.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThbXyJcwaYJLyp6pJWoNSc_mXXzKQbHIBTD5rD-WOeMNAxXo8xCTEgExpQjJ-VJaNKDP0zuGrs3wZUlknzoopOuL1bsw-uMPlBA0zjeRHP-WsnZu__QaXg-a3ZrH8Ui0N0GZwrpZPtcD7/w400-h266/11+Installation+view+of+Matthew+Barney_+Redoubt+at+Hayward+Gallery%252C+2021+%25C2%25A9+Matthew+Barney%252C+2021.+Photo_+Mark+Blower.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Installation view of Matthew Barney, <i>Redoubt</i> at Hayward Gallery, 2021 <br />© Matthew Barney, 2021. Photo Mark Blower</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">The production budget must have been colossal, and this goes someway to explain the upstairs section of the show where the copper and bronze wall hangings and sculptures are brightly lit as if in a showroom (or supermarket). Damian Hirst’s 2017 Venice Biennial folly <i>Treasures from the Wreck of The Unbelievable</i> came to mind as I descended the staircase to visit the second exhibition at the gallery.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9-0sfjZNX-xb688dHkhHYitsdpDOfxMPdZO42GbP69Uz_20A8YET7_SArCNq0eZAWbG2Rjbhd4qc6vZQ1OYbskoadQlXMZeEeohABRoO45n71o9ap6HJn7B8c23Yu0SJQHEshnLdcZCV/s2048/IMG_4802.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1906" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9-0sfjZNX-xb688dHkhHYitsdpDOfxMPdZO42GbP69Uz_20A8YET7_SArCNq0eZAWbG2Rjbhd4qc6vZQ1OYbskoadQlXMZeEeohABRoO45n71o9ap6HJn7B8c23Yu0SJQHEshnLdcZCV/s320/IMG_4802.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Although Igshann Adams’ <i>Kicking Dust </i>(the second show at The Hayward), has its own fairy tale rationale, its soft diffusion of beaded tapestries and clouds of delicately twisted wire works could not be more different from the dark machismo of Barney’s <i>Redoubt</i>. <i>Kicking Dust</i> is described as a single installation made up of a number of components. The inspiration for these works lie in Adams’ South African heritage as reflected by their Afrikaans titles. Particularly poetic are the pathways or ‘desire lines’ that allow us to walk amongst the weavings on the gallery floor which reflect Adams’ field research in the suburbs of Cape Town, and the wire clouds, which are inspired by the dust kicked up in a dance performed in the Northern Cape and infuse the gallery with a soft haziness.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qFIqH7ErWqvbdVPT_UL3AP-JnNgDfqkd1_H5g8NsZWTw864YhmJfuULFcFQoeE89IsXLjwpNiAPiDfNugB7HBGKz1rcqyBaJh2uycAwQ7JmdssGVqEkqntT0X3PHEsH4iKNI4herXLt_/s2048/Igshaan+Adams+%25281%2529.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qFIqH7ErWqvbdVPT_UL3AP-JnNgDfqkd1_H5g8NsZWTw864YhmJfuULFcFQoeE89IsXLjwpNiAPiDfNugB7HBGKz1rcqyBaJh2uycAwQ7JmdssGVqEkqntT0X3PHEsH4iKNI4herXLt_/w400-h300/Igshaan+Adams+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Igshann Adams, <i>Kicking Dust,</i> installation view, 2021</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Emerging from the delicate pastel-toned world of <i>Kicking Dust</i> involves a short immersion in the harshness of <i>Redoubt</i> – two shows which really could not be more different in tone.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Matthew Barney: <i>Redoubt</i> & Igshann Adams: <i>Kicking Dust</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Hayward Gallery</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">Southbank Centre, London</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;">19 May - 25 June 2021</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0