The Ingram Collection @ the Lightbox, Woking

Chris Ingram is a local Woking boy made good. Born in 1943, Ingram attended Woking Grammar School, but left half way through the sixth form to pursue what became a very successful career in advertising. Around 2000 he started collecting art and soon decided to specialise in Modern British Art. The Ingram Collection now amounts to some 450 pieces. When Woking Council approached him with a view to helping to fund a new gallery and museum, the idea dawned of not only funding it, but making it the permanent home of his collection. Thus was conceived what is now the strikingly modern new gallery, the Lightbox, just ten minutes walk from Woking station and with a courtyard cafe overlooking the picturesque Basingstoke Canal.

Sculpture of H.G. Wells by Wesley Harland outside the Lightbox Gallery, Woking

Sculpture of H.G. Wells by Wesley Harland outside the Lightbox Gallery, Woking

I counted four display spaces – a permanent exhibition on Woking’s history, a top floor gallery showing an selection of 20th century self-portraits from the collection of Ruth Bourchard, the Art Fund Gallery on the ground floor, and on the first floor a large space devoted to the Ingram Collection. The Ingram Collection is now considered the biggest privately owned publicly accessible collection of Modern British in the country. Accessibility is the key word – Ingram wants as many people as possible to share, enjoy and interact with the work, and so the curators have the interesting challenge of coming up with new themes and ideas, as well as strategies of outreach, getting schoolchildren involved, hosting lectures and so on. It is a beehive of activity.

In their own words: Artists’ voices from the Ingram Collection

The idea for this show is to divide a selection of works into six themes, arrange sofas in and around each cluster of works with headphones, so that we can listen to audio recordings from the artists who created them. These were very interesting, but only had relevance if you knew who the artists are in the first place, or had a handle on their styles.

For a start the most prominent pieces in the show were the dozen or so sculptures, and the presence who emerged strongest was Dame Elizabeth Frink (1930-1993). Her work is like Henry Moore but reined much much back, back towards more obvious figurativism. Everything here was highly figurative and representational.

Gogglehead by Dame Elisabeth Frink (1973)

Gogglehead by Dame Elisabeth Frink (1973)

Only a few minutes ago I read on her Tate Gallery profile page that ‘Thuggishness is a bit of a preoccupation with me.’ Maybe that’s why I liked them – they have a virile, punky threatening quality which the huge surreal figures of Henry Moore, for me, generally don’t.

Riace III by Dame Elisabeth Frink

Riace III by Dame Elisabeth Frink

Frink did loads of animals. There’s an admirable print of a horse on its side, and a striking one of a baboon.

Baboon by Dame Elizabeth Frink (1990)

Baboon by Dame Elizabeth Frink (1990)

The other dominant presence, in terms of number of pieces and impact, is Eduardo Palaozzi. There’s a lovely 1950s b&w photo of him in some London mews as the poster for the show, and a big late statue, one of the half-man, half-robot figures he perfected in the 80s and 90s, stands outside the gallery.

Standing figure by Eduardo Palaozzi

Standing figure by Eduardo Palaozzi

From earlier in his career there’s a sharp-nosed bust, looking a bit like the V for Vendetta face.

 Mr Cruikshank by Sir Eduardo Paolozzi (1950)

Mr Cruikshank by Sir Eduardo Paolozzi (1950)

Paolozzi began his career producing hundreds of comic defacements of 1950s consumer adverts and/or science fiction comics. There are a couple of classic examples here.

Au telephone by Sir Eduardo Paolozzi (1953)

Au telephone by Sir Eduardo Paolozzi (1953)

Although you’ve missed it, you can still read about (or buy the book of) the recent big retrospective of Eduardo Paolozzi at the Whitechapel Gallery. Or read my review of it. There were maybe 40 works in the show, which gave a strong sense of the visual world of the middle decades of the twentieth century.

Pandarus by Kenneth Armitage

Pandarus by Kenneth Armitage (1963)

Standing out from the 1950s earnestness was a piece of sexy playfulness by British Pop artist, Allan Jones (b.1937).

What with sitting on the cosy sofas and listening to recordings of Paolozzi, Frink et al giving their thoughts on issues like leaving home, or finding a place in  the world, this was a very interesting and enjoyable way to spend an hour.

For a confirmed Londoner, the Lightbox was a real find and I happily took out a year’s membership at a bargain £7.50.

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The Royal Academy summer exhibition 2016

The pleasures of the annual summer exhibition at the Royal Academy are:

  1. The sheer scale – 1,240 exhibits this year.
  2. The variety – it is not a show of One Major Artist, where you’re meant to pay close attention to the artistic development of a Matisse or a Georgia O’Keeffe – it’s such an enormous ragbag of styles, formats and artists, confusing and inspiring by turn, that so you can just like whatever you like.
  3. The prices – most of the exhibits are on sale and the exhibition booklet gives prices: it’s always amusing to be shocked and outraged at the outrageously large prices of the whoppers, but also touched by the affordability of some of the simpler works.

I’ve been to half a dozen summer shows and this seemed to me a rather dull one. Maybe I’m getting used to them, but too many of the oil paintings in particular, were just ‘meh’. Oil paintings of the canals of Venice, of a nude model in the artist’s studio, of a mantelpiece or a flight of stairs in someone’s house. Haven’t these subjects been done to death? Haven’t I seen them done a thousand times before, and much better?

Installation view of the Summer Exhibition 2016 © Stephen White

Installation view of the Summer Exhibition 2016 © Stephen White

Likes

I learned about Jane and Louise Wilson from their black and white photos of ruined WWII concrete defences on the Normandy coast. Several of their other large format photos are currently on display at Tate Britain. For this show, they’ve hung six massive colour photos taken in the city of Pripyat, abandoned and never repopulated after the catastrophic nuclear accident at the nearby Chernobyl nuclear power plant.

Atomgrad, Nature Abhors A Vacuum VII by Jane and Louise Wilson  © Jane & Louise Wilson

Atomgrad, Nature Abhors A Vacuum VII by Jane and Louise Wilson © Jane & Louise Wilson

They are powerful depictions of derelict ruins and set off a theme which runs, here and there, throughout the rest of the show, of ruin and collapse. Immense and atmospheric though they are, the impact is slightly undermined by the perspex cover on each image, which reflects the overhead lights so it’s hard to see an entire image without a patch of shiny reflection. (As luck would have it, I recently read a gripping thriller set in the Exclusion Zone around Chernobyl, Martin Cruz Smith’s Wolves Eat Dogs, which powerfully conveys the eeriness of the abandoned city, so the photos brought to life Cruz Smith’s wonderful text.)

Old favourites

You only have to visit a few of the Summer Exhibitions to begin to recognise old favourites who exhibit year after year. These include:

  • Allen Jones made his name in the 1960s with female shop window mannequins dressed in sexy underwear and posed to form a coffee table or chair. A retrospective of his work here at the Academy last year showed that his later work has included a lot of paintings of sexy women in leather boots etc in a kind of nightclub ambience of yellow and green washes of colour. There are half a dozen of these paintings in this year’s show, plus one life-size mannequin of a pert-breasted lovely with a splash of yellow paint across her. A snip at £210,000.
  • Anthony Green exhibits each year faux-naive paintings generally of himself, his wife, their house and garden, done in a cartoonish style and often with the frame cut out around the shape of the main image, for example Self-portrait for Gaston Lachaise £6,000. Reassuringly familiar.
  • Norman Ackroyd displays wonderful black and white etchings of the isles off Scotland, as seen rising from the sea, often beswirled by seagulls, with titles like Cow Rock, County Kerry (£1,100), Midsummer Sunrise, Sound of Mull £570, Skellig Revisited £570.
  • Very similar, but done in intaglio and so with darker blacks and a hint of blue, was a series of depictions of the landscape of Iceland and Antarctica by Emma Stibbon.
  • Mick Moon paints peasant fishermen scenes onto what looks like planks or cross-sections of weed. Evening Fishing £25,200.
  • Michael Craig-Martin makes very soothing big paintings of everyday objects in striking, unshaded primary colours. Space II is very big and costs £170,000.
  • Tracey Emin’s sketchy sketches of what is probably her own naked body on a bed go for £1,850 a pop.
Installation view of the Summer Exhibition 2016 © Stephen White

Installation view of the Summer Exhibition 2016, featuring a typical large work by Michael Craig-Martin © Stephen White

Novelties

  • Allora and Calzadilla displayed a life size petrol pump emerging from a block of grey stone, titled 2 Hose Petrified Petrol Pump. Powerful. Not for sale (NFS)
  • My son like the enormous Böse Blumen by Anselm Kiefer, a vast grey slab of lead, with daubs and blodges of oil paint and, incongruously, a relief sculpture of a big leather bound book. NFS.
  • Beard Aware is the name of a huge mock-stained glass work by pranksters Gilbert and George, depicting the artists bending over to moon us, but their bottoms concealed by swathes of barbed wire. One of an extensive series which is something to do with security, apparently.
  • In the same room is a raised dais bearing a large rectangle of paper on which are two carbonised skeletons, blackened bone fragments, some of the teeth with gold fillings. Self Portrait as Charcoal on Paper by Zatorski and Zatorski, £42,000.
Installation view of the Summer Exhibition 2016, featuring Beard Aware by Gilbert and George, andSelf portrait as charcoal on paper by Zatorski and Zatorski © Stephen White

Installation view of the Summer Exhibition 2016, featuring Beard Aware by Gilbert and George, and Self portrait as charcoal on paper by Zatorski and Zatorski © Stephen White

  • The Small Weston Room is devoted to 30 or so black and white photographs by the husband and wife team of Bernd and Hilla Becher. They spent decades photographing isolated and often derelict industrial buildings with Teutonic precision – always on the same kind of grey, overcast day in spring or autumn (never summer) to avoid shadows, and always using a camera placed on a tripod at human eye level. These images are then arranged into squares or rectangles of prints showing the same type of building – gas tanks, cooling towers, water towers, stone works and cooling towers. My son liked the cooling towers since they had the most variety on the central design, and also often looked like space ships.
  • In the room devoted to Landscape, I liked Black Sea by Lee Wagstaff, a simple depiction of waves (£3,500) and a big colour photo of a Coal Mine, Outer Mongolia by Richard Seymour (£4,200).
  • Gillian Ayres has had a long career. She is represented here by two colourful woodcuts on paper, which channel Matisse’s late paper cutouts – Scilla and Achiote (£5,760 and £6,600 respectively).

Architecture in the room of shame

As usual one room is devoted to architects’ fanciful, space-age plans for buildings which might as well come from another planet. If architects are in any way responsible for the inhumane, rainy, windswept heartless streets and concrete rabbit warrens which so many Londoners are forced to endure, they whole profession should hang its head in shame.

Slick, clean, plastic or wooden models show the utopian world of these fantasy planners, a world where it never rains, it’s never windy, and where cars, buses, vans, lorries, cabs, coaches and diesel trains don’t – apparently – emit any toxic gases – a world free of CO2, CO, sulphur dioxide or diesel fumes. By rights this room ought to be pumped full of car and bus fumes so that visitors quickly feel sick and ill, in order to convey the awful, car-choked reality of the shiny plastic dreams peddled by so many architectural fantasists.

Themes

Room VI claimed to house works devoted to ‘the role of art in healing a shattered world’. Sentimental tripe. Art may record the appalling devastation humankind is wreaking on the planet, but I’m not aware of it forming the keystone of any notable peace agreement. In Chechnya, former Yugoslavia, Rwanda, Iraq – is there a lot of healing art?

One example among scores – Christopher Hughes’ sketch of the utterly devastated landscape of Homs in Syria, depicting how actual buildings often fare in the actual world, instead of in the utopian fantasies of dreamy architects.

Room IX featured a lot of work by the Sensation artists, the Young British Artists who shot to fame with the Sensation show in 1997. (Surely they should be celebrated next year – will there be a tenwtieth-anniversary show?) As a totality, this room instantly made more visual impact than most of its predecessors. It felt like it was the product of people who were savvy with the actual, image-saturated culture we live in – compare and contrast with the very tired-feeling oil paintings of Venice or a garden.

I liked All The Fish In The Sea by David Mach (£56,000).

Transformer-Performer Double-Act VIII by EVA & ADELE (2015) Photo courtesy of Nicole Gnesa Gallery

Transformer-Performer Double-Act VIII by EVA & ADELE (2015) Photo courtesy of Nicole Gnesa Gallery

Towards the end of the show, the Lecture Room has a lot of big sculptures in it, including David Mach’s Silver Hart, a stag’s head made out of shiny coat hangers (£48,000) – though nothing will top the gorilla made of coat hangers which he exhibited a few years ago.

My son liked Wood Burner II by Guy Allott, which looked like a tea urn with space rocket fins attached.

Leila Jeffreys contributed two big colour photos of cockatoos (£2,160). There was a big b&w photo of people at a nightclub dancing – a rare window into the actual everyday world where millions of people live – the daily commute to work, meeting friends down the pub, playing football and other sports, clubbing, cafes, taking kids to school, homework, shopping, cooking – which is almost entirely ignored by the world of art and architecture alike.

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Fighting History @ Tate Britain

The title is slightly misleading. It, and the poster of British redcoats in a battle, suggest the show will be about depictions of war (a thorough investigation of how artists have depicted war would have been very interesting) – but it isn’t. There are some depictions of war scenes and there’s an entire room dedicated to the so-called Battle of Orgreave during the 1984 Miners’ Strike, but there are as many or more depictions of non-war-related, if dramatic, scenes from history and literature, and an entire room dedicated to the Biblical flood – neither of them involving fighting or battles.

Like a lot of Tate shows in recent years, this show takes a provocatively eclectic, pick’n’mix approach to the subject which, ultimately, leaves the visitor more confused than when they arrived. There are good and interesting things in the jumble, but the visitor is left, again, with the strong impression that Tate has to find themes or topics to justify displaying lots of second-rate paintings (usually kept in its enormous archive) and livened up with a handful of greatest hits to pull the punters in.

Word of this must have got around: when I arrived (Friday 10.30) there was one other visitor in the whole show; when I left this had shot up to four visitors. People must have read the reviews (see below).

There are six rooms:

1. Radical history painting

The first room points out that history painting, considered the peak of artistic achievement in the 18th and 19th centuries, fell out of favour in the Modernist 20th century and became widely associated with conservative, old-fashioned, patriotic tendencies. But the exhibition seeks to show that artists can still ‘engage’ with historical subjects, with ‘anti-establishment’ events, demonstrating ‘resistance’ to established authority, in ‘radical’ ways. In other words -history painting can be cool.

  • Dexter Dalwood – The Poll Tax Riots (2005) I watched this riot on TV and was caught up in a poll tax riot in Brixton around this period. I see the cleverness of imposing the Berlin Wall on either side of Trafalgar Square and this painting is very big, but I don’t find very appealing, powerful or persuasive.
Dexter Dalwood, The Poll Tax Riots (2005) Private collection © The Artist and Simon Lee Gallery, London & Hong Kong

Dexter Dalwood, The Poll Tax Riots (2005)
Private collection
© The Artist and Simon Lee Gallery, London & Hong Kong

  • Jeremy Deller – The History of The World (1997-2004) Placed in the first room to maybe deliberately subvert the visitor’s expectations of a show about history painting, this instead confirms the visitor’s expectations that this will be another Tate show designed to display the curator’s eclectic vision and street-cool radicalism. Connected to the art work, Deller made recordings of a brass band playing acid house tracks, a fun idea though it seems a bit dated now.

2. 250 years of British history painting

History painting in the 18th century involved taking a pregnant or meaningful moment which demonstrated heroic virtues and patriotism, figures were grouped to create a dramatic tableau (and to highlight the artist’s knowledge of anatomy) with stylised and symbolic gestures, the whole thing often referencing classical predecessors to add artistic and cultural authority.

In fact remarkably few of the 12 paintings in this room reflected any of that, only the last three really fit the description.

  • Richard Hamilton – Kent State (1970) Image of one of the four students shot dead by State troopers taken, as was Hamilton’s Pop practice, from a TV still.
  • Walter Sickert – Miss Earhart’s Arrival (1932) I’ve never liked Sickert’s murky, muddy style.
  • Richard Eurich – D-Day Landing (1942) Superficially realistic, this painting apparently used diagrams, maps and charts of the landing to create a slightly more schematic image.
Richard Eurich, The Landing at Dieppe, 19th August 1942 1942-3 Oil paint on wood Tate

Richard Eurich, The Landing at Dieppe, 19th August 1942 (1942-3)
Oil paint on wood
Tate

  • Stanley Spencer – The Centurion’s Servant (1914) Early Spencer, an example of standard English anti-Romanticism/naive style. Not that attractive.
  • Sir John Everett Millais – The Boyhood of Raleigh (1870) A lollypop. A greatest hit. An Abba classic. Churlish not to love it.
  • Henry Wallis – The Room In Which Shakespeare Was Born (1853)
  • Steve McQueen – The Lynching Tree (2003) McQueen was scouting locations for his movie 12 Years A Slave and came across this still-surviving lynching tree, surrounded by graves of the black people murdered on it.
  • Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema – A Silent Greeting (1889) I like the ‘Olympians’, the group of late Victorian artists who painted scenes from the classical world. Alma-Tadema was often compared to the painters of the Dutch enlightenment eg Vermeer, for his attention to the detail of quiet domestic scenes.
  • Charles Holroyd – Death of Torrigiano (1886) The commentary points out that the death of Torrigiano was taken by Protestant Brits as an example of the repressiveness of Catholicism, which prompts the thought that this is a vast subject -you could probably fill an exhibition on the theme of the fighting Protestantism of British identity since the Reformation – which goes almost untouched in this exhibition about British history.
  • Johann Zoffany – The Death of Captain Cook (1798) Not a good painting, though demonstrating the arch and stylised gestures to be found in ‘history painting’.
  • Colin Morison – Andromache Offering Sacrifice to Hector’s Shade (1760) An episode from Virgil’s Aenieid, with badly-painted classical figures arranged artfully around the canvas engaging in stereotyped expressions of emotion.
  • Benjamin West – Cleombrotus Ordered into Banishment by Leonidas II, King of Sparta (1768) A stylised simplicity of gesture and lack of decoration which anticipates the French neo-classical painter, David.

3. Ancient history

Antiquarians and painters interested in history transferred the dignity of setting and classical attitudes to myths and legends of ancient Britain, lending the aura of classical authority to our island story.

  • Sir Edward Poynter – A Visit to Aesculapius (1880) Poynter was director of the National Gallery and an important theorist of late Victorian painting. The gestures of the women seems modelled on statues of the three graces, but are also saucy naked women which eminent Victorians could view without moral qualms.
  • Sir John Everett Millais – Speak! Speak! (1895) Millais was a painter of genius as various recent exhibitions of the pre-Raphaelites have highlighted. This appears to have been an entirely invented situation: the male figure reaching out is hand is corny, but the figure of the commanding woman in white is majestic and haunting when you see the actual painting, reminiscent of other late Victorian powerful women eg John Singer Sargent’s extraordinary painting of Ellen Terry playing Lady MacBeth.
  • James Barry – King Lear Weeping over the Dead Body of Cordelia (1786-8) Once taken deadly seriously, this looks like a cartoon now.
  • Gavin Hamilton – Agrippina Landing at Brindisium with the Ashes of Germanicus (1765) Another chaste, neo-classical canvas, the unrealistic figures displaying stylised gestures. I think the purpose is to emphasise wifely fidelity and humility, neither of which strike a chord in our times.
Gavin Hamilton, Agrippina Landing at Brindisium with the Ashes of Germanicus (1765-72) Tate

Gavin Hamilton, Agrippina Landing at Brindisium with the Ashes of Germanicus (1765-72)
Tate

4. British history

The trouble is there is a lot of British history, an enormous amount. This selection is so random, such a miscellany, that it’s hard to extract any meaning or ideas from it.

  • Allen Jones – The Battle of Hastings (1961) A bracing doodling semi-abstract, jokey 60s-style.
  • William Frederick Yeames – Amy Robsart (1877) Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, stood a strong chance of marrying Queen Elizabeth, the only problem being he was already married. He conveyed his wife, Amy Robsart, to a country house and there his servants asphyxiated her with a pillow then threw her down the stairs as if killed by an intruder. This painting shows the killer and other servants coming across her body. I like the simplicity of the painting and the simple but effective trick of having the innocent woman illuminated by a glow with the murderous servants in gloom at the top of the stairs.
  • Michael Fullerton – Loyalist Female (Katie Black) Glasgow, 3rd July 2010 (2010)
  • Richard Hamilton – The Citizen (1981) Taken, as was Hamilton’s practice, from a still of a TV documentary about the ‘dirty protesters’ in H block. A large, striking and, I think, very successful painting due to its composition, the balance of the two panels, the abstract swirls (made out of the inmate’s faces) and the haunting Jesus-like figure of the prisoner, Hugh Rooney.
Richard Hamilton, The citizen (1981-3) Oil paint on two canvases Tate © The estate of Richard Hamilton

Richard Hamilton, The citizen (1981-3)
Oil paint on two canvases
Tate
© The estate of Richard Hamilton

  • Sir Joshua Reynolds – Colonel Tarleton (1782) A wonderful composition showing what a genius Reynolds was as the posed portrait.
  • John Singleton Copley – The Collapse of the Earl of Chatham in the House of Lords, 7 July 1778 (1779) To be admired for the sweep and flow of the composition and the use of light to highlight the heroic figure of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, who made a great patriotic speech against granting America its independence, and promptly collapsed and died. Apparently, Copley exhibited the painting privately and charged visitors a shilling a view.
  • Philip James de Loutherbourg – The Battle of the Nile (1800) It was displayed with a key naming the ships depicted, which the guidebook to the exhibition usefully quotes.
  • Malcolm Morley – Trafalgar Waterloo (2013) Modern construction piggybacking on two famous portraits of Nelson and Wellington.
  • John Minton – The Death of Nelson (1952) Though obviously a modern recasting of the vent, it’s interesting to see how Minton uses the same highlight effect to focus on the hero as all his predecessors.
  • John Singleton Copley – The Death of Major Peirson, 6 January 1781 (1783) French forces tried to invade Jersey. Peirson was in charge of the British defenders, refused to give way, and was shot dead by a sniper. It’s notable how contemporary many of these history paintings were, depicting events still fresh in the public memory.
John Singleton Copley, The Death of Major Peirson, 6 January 1781 (1783) © Tate

John Singleton Copley, The Death of Major Peirson, 6 January 1781 (1783)
© Tate

5. The Battle of Orgreave

An entire room dedicated to the 1984 miners’ strike, focusing on the so-called ‘Battle of Orgreave’ coal mine. Part of the room is showing on a permanent loop the 62-minute documentary reconstructing the battle with eyewitness accounts and interviews, produced by artist Jeremy Deller (and directed by Mike Figgis) in 2001. The shouting and the angry Northern accents are very penetrating and spill over into the surrounding rooms, distracting me from thinking about the Battle of the Nile or Trafalgar or any of the subjects in the preceding room.

I felt sorry for the poor security guards who must have to sit here and listen to the same angry Northern voices hour after hour, day after day. It must drive them mad.

For me the fact that every shot in the documentary was a reconstruction fatally undermined it, no matter that many of the re-enactors had been there. It’s 31 years ago now. A friend at school’s sister was going out with a policeman who told her how much fun they were having: spirited away from boring trudging the beat, to live in barracks, with exciting opportunities for fighting on a regular basis and getting paid triple time – perfect!

Next to the video is a room whose wall is covered with a comprehensive timeline of the miners’ strike, as well as display cases of journals, diaries, newspapers, a police shield, a big map of the UK with coal mines and power stations indicated, a TV showing a video of Confederate re-enactors in the US (?), a shelf of books about Thatcher and the strike.

If you want to relive those bitter days and the crushing sense of defeat many people felt at the eventual capitulation of the miners, it’s all here to wallow in.

Jeremy Deller, Jacket from The Battle of Orgreave Archive (An Injury to one is an Injury to All) (2001) Tate. Commissioned and produced by Artangel, film directed by Mike Figgis. Presented by Tate Members 2005. The Artangel Collection at Tate © Jeremy Deller

Jeremy Deller, Jacket from The Battle of Orgreave Archive (An Injury to one is an Injury to All) (2001)
Tate. Commissioned and produced by Artangel, film directed by Mike Figgis. Presented by Tate Members 2005. The Artangel Collection at Tate
© Jeremy Deller

6. The deluge

The final, very large, room is dedicated to the subject of the Deluge, the Biblical flood, nothing – you might think – to do with history or fighting. It was interesting to be told that, as a subject, it gained a new relevance in the mid-19th century with new discoveries in Geology which shed light on the deep history of the planet, with a school of scientists using the story of the Flood to explain the presence of fossils of seashells on the tops of mountains etc. All the paintings in this room were poor – big, yes, melodramatic, yes, and a bit silly.

  • William Westall – The Commencement of The Deluge (1848) Rough thick Constable-esque crests of white paint. Looked better from the other end of the room.
  • Francis Darby – The Deluge (1840) A powerful, smooth, heroically bad painting.
  • JMW Turner – The Deluge (1805) A bad Turner.
  • Dexter Dalwood – The Deluge (2006)
  • Winifred Knights – The Deluge (1920)
Winifred Knights, The Deluge (1920) Oil paint on canvas Tate © The estate of Winifred Knights

Winifred Knights, The Deluge (1920)
Oil paint on canvas
Tate
© The estate of Winifred Knights

The commentary gives the room a bit of factitious ‘relevance’ by claiming that, with scientists warning of sea level rises due to global warming, the subject may be taking on a new relevance.

Not really – warming won’t produce the flood which these paintings all depict, it will be slow if inexorable. If it happens at all. Rather than a sentence in the guide it would have been good to have an actual work making this connection. For example, one of Maggie Hambling’s sea-related works, the You are the sea installation or the Wall of water paintings which I reviewed in April.

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Allen Jones @ the Royal Academy

Allen Jones was born in 1937. He attended the Royal College of Art alongside David Hockney and Patrick Caulfield, just after the generation of Richard Hamilton and Peter Blake ie in the heart of what was quickly labelled Pop Art, casting off the existentialist angst of Abstract Expressionism and rejoicing in the bright shiny surfaces or a new world of household appliances and in the flashy sexy images of TV and advertising.

This exhibition in the Burlington Galleries (round the back) of the Royal Academy is a retrospective of a career spanning over 50 years.

Sexy sculptures

The show features sketches and drawings from as early as 1959, but his breakthrough came in 1969 when he exhibited Table, Chair and Hat Stand. These caused a furore at the time and columnists who are paid to fill newspapers with anything they can dredge up were still pretending to be scandalised at the opening of this exhibition a few months ago. Really? In the era when 50 Shades of Grey is the fastest-selling paperback of all time, 20 years after Madonna wore her conical bra, 30 years after Robert Mapplethorpe‘s cock photos.

Another group which set out to subvert suburban society, its pinstripe trousers and bowler hats, its Mary Whitehouse repressiveness, made their debut in 1969 – Monty Python. Python also used references to sex and a rather tame vision of kinkiness to ‘shock’ and subvert. In the small first room of the show there were bits and bobs from Jones’s studio and I was struck to see this included some Eric Gill seaside postcards. Looking back, both Jones and Python seem provincial and tame compared with Mapplethorpe’s sophistication and with any of the bondage pornography which is only a click away on the internet.

Googling for images I’ve also come across some striking outfits worn by Diana Rigg playing Emma Peel in the TV series The Avengers, which anybody could watch on TV from 1965 onwards.

There were a few variations on the Table in the show, but not as many as you’d expect. The trilogy seem to have been almost one-offs – but Jones’s long career ever since has been overshadowed by their stunning impact. It’s less their sexiness (they are not very sexy in a cold clinical gallery) but the clarity of their design, combining the super-perfection of a shop window mannekin with the banality of their functionality – table, chair, hat stand – and the sleek lines of the leather boots and panties, which make them such design classics.

Painting

Moving swiftly on the show’s biggest room is dedicated to thirty or so paintings, showing how Jones’ style developed. The 1960s paintings have a few of the motifs of the era, arrows and decals, and details from the magazine world, but overall are rather drab, the muted greens and browns of camouflage.

It’s the paintings from the 1990s and 2000s which make an impact. They’re generally enormous and very simple in design – clearly drawn silhouettes of (mostly women’s) legs, sometimes upper bodies, and some men, set in big patches of bright colours, representing what appear to be night clubs, cinemas, a tryptych based round a piano with a man playing it and women in various stages of undress lying over it.

They are all stylised in the same way – there is no attempt to be realistic – the figures are drawn with cartoon-like strong outlines, the faces of men or women often left blank or not appearing. It is the silhouette, the outline of the human figure, particularly the lower half, the legs, and particularly women’s legs, which fascinate him.

Some of the paintings have an erotic element, some appear to be in sex clubs, or involve men and women in apparently sexual positions. But others are of fully clothed people dancing or in other fairly unerotic poses. What they all have in common is the cartoon-like draughtsmanship, the use of bright primary colours, and the way they left this viewer completely cold.

Steel sculpture

There is a room dedicated to Jones’s steel sculptures: they are slightly over life-size, two-dimensional ribbons of steel curved and cut and painted to have just enough likeness to human beings to be recognisable. Many of them are of dancing individuals or couples and, by this stage one is realising that dance – the human body he’s so fascinated by in lovely movement – is a major subject for Jones.

My wife liked some of the thin steel sculptures of men best in the show.

Mannekins

The final room has a set of a dozen or so mannekins, from the over-famous Hat Stand through a series of mannekins with the same small head and slim body, standing tiptoe in a variety of leather outfits. It includes paintings and photographs, including the stunning photo of Kate Moss wearing a metallic body suit. This adorned the cover of the RA magazine as well as GQ magazine and many others. It demonstrates the crossover in Jones’s work between fine art and fashion, glamour, photography etc, one he’s perfectly at home with but gives Daily Mail commentators and feminists such fits.

I didn’t like the stylised small head and expression of these mannekins. they were all minor variations on the same model, though wearing different style shoes and covered in different bright paints (as in the huge recent paintings) or with figure-hugging leather outfits.

In the same room were paintings with similar poses ie a single female. By far the standout piece and one of the best things in the exhibition is the painting of ballet dancer Darcy Bussell (1994). A reproduction doesn’t do justice to the painting’s size, its lightness and elegance, and the likeness of the face – one of the few faces anywhere in his work which shows genuine individuality. I also liked the small scurfs of paint in the yellow section and the bottom, brown section – I like paintings which leave some paint unfinished, which indicate their hand-madeness in a world saturated with perfect images.

Dégas

Looking at the Darcey Bussell painting made me think of Dégas. There was a painter and sculptor obsessed with the female form and its movement, who painted and sculpted the slender figures of ballet dancers over and over again. Realised there is a direct link between him and Jones – and how, because Dégas’s svelte female figures are dressed in tutus and pumps they are acceptable as Art, whereas, because Jones’s equally stylised and repeated female forms sometimes are wearing kinky boots, or elbow-length gloves or leather body stockings – they are dismissed as sexist exploitation.

Sketches

Easy to stroll through the small final room and exit without stopping to look at the pencil and charcoal sketches. These were there to demonstrate the care and thoroughness Jones brings to his large-scale paintings and sculptures. But in among the preparatory works were a couple of gems, showing the brilliancy of his draughtsmanship, and also that he was interested in individuality before the interest in homogenous or generic or blank mannekin faces came to predominate.

Head of Judy, 1959, had an angularity and rigour and individuality which reminded me of 1930s Wyndham Lewis, hinting at the lines and blocks and angles hidden beneath the skin.

Skull, 1978, was a drawing of a skull with a Dürer-like intensity of detail – but what lifted it was a swatch of light brown paint, just one broad brushstroke to the right of the skull, which perfectly counterpoised it. this was the best piece in the show, for me.


Related links

Reviews of other Royal Academy exhibitions

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