Friday 11 October 2013
Friday 4 October 2013
Whaam!
I have gone back to an earlier draft blog, written whilst enjoying Alastair Sooke's programme on Roy Lichstenstein, transmitted some time ago on BBC4 to mark the WHAAM! show at Tate Modern. It struck me as an unusually cohesive review, with a good feed of different perspectives. Yet I was nagged with persistent doubt regarding the drive of much late 20th avant-garde visual production - sometimes one can't help feeling it suggests more vehicle for ambition to achieve personal renown than genuine struggle for creative expression. This is what I wrote:
"Looking at Lichstenstein's work up to the age of 40 yrs. old, there seems to be so little sign of anything to say, whether in purely formal terms or in content - no skills or discoveries made, no developing voice, no evidence of the struggle of means towards realisation - and this seems quite extraordinary to me. How can anybody be in this world for 40 yrs. without having something of their own to say about life and how can an artist not show evidence of the struggle to express it? It seems that Lichtenstein was experimenting with form and theory - the constructs of currently acceptable styles - which were not suited to him. Without the inspiration of having something to say, form and theory are empty vessels.
His discovery aged 40 of the potential of representing cartoon imagery as 'fine art' was a giant leap in the appropriation of existing genres legitimised in terms of irony or, more grandly, 'cultural criticism'. Artists have always appropriated the work of others, but seldom previously in such a dedicated manner - as an end in itself. It occurs to me that irony is perhaps not really critique enough: it is a secondary position, dependent for its context on the status of that which is being criticised. It may suggest a fine sensibility, but there is an element of cowardice in relying upon it for one's entire proposition."
I didn't publish the blog at the time as it is my usual negative rant, and I should only write blogs when I am enthused - as I was during a recent visit to the current "Masterpieces" exhibition in the new galleries at the Sainsbury Centre where there is a wonderful range of work to marvel at. I've also just re-read 'Middlemarch' - now there is a fine sensibility. It does not lack irony, but it is so richly layered that the irony strengthens rather than predominates the text.
Nemesis, terracotta.
"Looking at Lichstenstein's work up to the age of 40 yrs. old, there seems to be so little sign of anything to say, whether in purely formal terms or in content - no skills or discoveries made, no developing voice, no evidence of the struggle of means towards realisation - and this seems quite extraordinary to me. How can anybody be in this world for 40 yrs. without having something of their own to say about life and how can an artist not show evidence of the struggle to express it? It seems that Lichtenstein was experimenting with form and theory - the constructs of currently acceptable styles - which were not suited to him. Without the inspiration of having something to say, form and theory are empty vessels.
His discovery aged 40 of the potential of representing cartoon imagery as 'fine art' was a giant leap in the appropriation of existing genres legitimised in terms of irony or, more grandly, 'cultural criticism'. Artists have always appropriated the work of others, but seldom previously in such a dedicated manner - as an end in itself. It occurs to me that irony is perhaps not really critique enough: it is a secondary position, dependent for its context on the status of that which is being criticised. It may suggest a fine sensibility, but there is an element of cowardice in relying upon it for one's entire proposition."
I didn't publish the blog at the time as it is my usual negative rant, and I should only write blogs when I am enthused - as I was during a recent visit to the current "Masterpieces" exhibition in the new galleries at the Sainsbury Centre where there is a wonderful range of work to marvel at. I've also just re-read 'Middlemarch' - now there is a fine sensibility. It does not lack irony, but it is so richly layered that the irony strengthens rather than predominates the text.
Nemesis, terracotta.
Bruer Tidman and Bridget Heriz at Wymondham Arts Centre
Standing Woman, wood and wire, 2013, 87.5 cm h.
I am exhibiting with Bruer Tidman at Wymondham Art Centre, 8th -20th October 2013.
Monday to Saturday 10 am - 5 pm, Sunday noon - 5 pm.
Big Draw drawing workshop (in the lovely Wymondham Abbey), Saturday 12th October.
Sunday 26 May 2013
Ritual sacrifice or performance art
Talking to friends today about the Ice Age art exhibition at the British Museum and the proposal that shattered figurines suggested performance art, the question arose whether ritual sacrifice, if that is indeed a valid explanation of the fragments, could be termed performance art. This is in reference to the finds at Dolni Vestonice, Moravia, where breakage was found to be so extensive. The works in question date back to the Last Glacial Maximum, 26,500 years ago, when vast ice sheets spread south over the North European Plain.
These figurines, and many animal sculptures, were made not of clay but of loess -" a yellowish brown loamy deposit believed to be chiefly deposited by the wind" (New Penguin ED) - which the exhibition catalogue says does not break when heated because it is so porous, allowing air to escape, although, it also explains that when kneaded, the porosity is reduced and air and water might be trapped in some internal holes.
Still, should the idea of ritual sacrifice hold, it still feels inappropriate, we felt, to call it performance art. Contemporary artists understand the significance of their endeavour within the system of beliefs we call 'Art', something that is largely self-referencing as currently evaluated. We might perceive the birth of the modern mind when we consider these artifacts created over 25,000 years ago, but we can be sure their cultural references were not ours. It feels uncomfortably complacent and arrogant to suggest that our self-conscious acts have any bearing upon rituals performed by early people struggling to survive in an unbelievably hostile environment, who nevertheless were capable of representation unutterably reverential in its expression. If such artifacts were to be ritually destroyed, it was in homage to an urgency far outside the references of contemporary art practice.
These figurines, and many animal sculptures, were made not of clay but of loess -" a yellowish brown loamy deposit believed to be chiefly deposited by the wind" (New Penguin ED) - which the exhibition catalogue says does not break when heated because it is so porous, allowing air to escape, although, it also explains that when kneaded, the porosity is reduced and air and water might be trapped in some internal holes.
Still, should the idea of ritual sacrifice hold, it still feels inappropriate, we felt, to call it performance art. Contemporary artists understand the significance of their endeavour within the system of beliefs we call 'Art', something that is largely self-referencing as currently evaluated. We might perceive the birth of the modern mind when we consider these artifacts created over 25,000 years ago, but we can be sure their cultural references were not ours. It feels uncomfortably complacent and arrogant to suggest that our self-conscious acts have any bearing upon rituals performed by early people struggling to survive in an unbelievably hostile environment, who nevertheless were capable of representation unutterably reverential in its expression. If such artifacts were to be ritually destroyed, it was in homage to an urgency far outside the references of contemporary art practice.
Saturday 25 May 2013
Ice Age Art
I have at last got my new studio completed, just in time for Open Studios. Not one soul turned up, so I had a relaxing day working on my first piece in this environment. There is plenty of light, that is the most significant change from work areas I have had to make do with recently, and it is lofty.
I am working on a small terracotta, just to get used to being in the new studio, and also in homage to the Ice Age Art exhibition at the British Museum visited two weeks ago. The artifacts were stunning, pieces that I have only previously seen illustrated in books and thus only two dimensional images, however subtle the photography. The individual objects are so tiny and intense: it was unbelievably frustrating with so many people trying to view them at the same time. But that wasn't as taxing as the interpretation panels - I didn't know whether to protest aloud or fall about on the floor in hysterics, but I fell back on my usual English reserve, and fumed quietly within.
The panel below one very early terracotta figurine described how there were many broken pieces nearby where this was found. It went on to suggest that this might be an early example of performance art, as the makers knew that they could not fire wet clay. Performance art??? Perhaps the scholar writing this text did not appreciate that it is not only wet clay that will result in exploded pieces, but not being hollowed out, trapped air, impurities in the clay, too much heat applied too quickly, all can result in disaster. I expect it took a while before all these difficulties were understood and no doubt a successful outcome was initially much rarer than otherwise. Even with our industrially prepared clay and technologically advanced kilns, explosions are always a possibility.
But that wasn't the worst of it, a miniature head, irregularly modelled with one eye slightly lower than the other and one cheekbone less pronounced than the other, was interpreted as a portrait of a woman with a deformed face. What on earth is going on? This is the British Museum where one would expect expert understanding of the processes of making along with serious consideration of the metaphorical content of these works.
Still, fortunately, the works spoke powerfully for themselves, in spite of the difficulty of viewing, thanks to the press of people around the display cabinets. I have always been inspired by these masterpieces yet seeing them in the round was a far more intense experience than I had imagined - the tenderness of modelling of the Zaraysk Bison combined with its stunning clarity of form, for example, can not be communicated in a two dimensional image. The natural structure and texture of the material was exploited to express a grandeur of scale that one would not have thought possible in such a miniature object.
The Lions in the Chauvet Cave above were obviously not in this Ice Age exhibition, but it is an image I scanned from an article by Peter Campbell in LRB 28.11.2011. An artist I showed it to was disappointed, he said, by the realism. What can you say? There is no willful stylisation, perhaps that is what the artist regretted. Style is signature, and perhaps a wonderfully vital depiction lacking this authority of individual ownership, as it were, is a threat somehow to contemporary fantasy.
This is a long rant, as usual. It takes a lot of pent up frustration to get me round to bothering. This next and last bit of rant is a result of listening to a discussion about nature on Radio 4 - can't remember when or who. But the gist was that nature can no longer be discussed as a valid concept in art because all nature is subject to man's interference, and there is no longer any such thing as virgin nature. Does nature not count unless it is virginal? It's surely a misunderstanding to think that the concept of nature only has power as manifestation of an unobtainable ideal - innocent, untamed, unsullied - only sacred or powerful when uncorrupted by man's penetration (to use a provocative term, for surely there is a sexual parallel here?) What a torment for the man who longs for the virginal, but with opportunity, would break the very thing he holds sacred! What an amazing arrogance to forget the divine fury of nature along with her sacred gift of life, death and regeneration. Breughel's "Fall of Icarus" comes to mind. The ploughman pays lowly homage as he labours upon the land, whilst Icarus falls unregarded from his great height.
OK, so a scholar would query, quite rightly, what exactly is signified by my use of this term 'nature' and I am not capable of presenting a logical argument for it. I am not a philosopher, trained to handle the complex duplicity of language. I hold philosophy in high regard, but we all need some sort of narrative, however philosophically unsound. I start with the premise that we are of nature, born of it and dying into it, symbiotic within it, manipulating and manipulated by it, consuming and consumed by it, and thus I start with the premise, at least, that one can have a concept of nature very, very different from idealisation.
Perhaps the Ice Age image makers were wiser than we modern animals who mistake the replication with which we are conscious of things for the actuality. A philosopher will object to the invalidity of the term 'actual' as something that cannot be known or proved - as if only what can be honed within the structural enclosure of language can be acknowledged as sound thought. Art is language too, pictorial in its form but still structural, and the Ice Age image makers no doubt hoped to control life by replicating it, as we do, confining it within pattern and form to make believable the authority of man's will. But within their images one can yet read a lingering awe and reverence that stretches the boundaries beyond self-reference - and I found it wonderfully inspiring and life enhancing.
I am working on a small terracotta, just to get used to being in the new studio, and also in homage to the Ice Age Art exhibition at the British Museum visited two weeks ago. The artifacts were stunning, pieces that I have only previously seen illustrated in books and thus only two dimensional images, however subtle the photography. The individual objects are so tiny and intense: it was unbelievably frustrating with so many people trying to view them at the same time. But that wasn't as taxing as the interpretation panels - I didn't know whether to protest aloud or fall about on the floor in hysterics, but I fell back on my usual English reserve, and fumed quietly within.
The panel below one very early terracotta figurine described how there were many broken pieces nearby where this was found. It went on to suggest that this might be an early example of performance art, as the makers knew that they could not fire wet clay. Performance art??? Perhaps the scholar writing this text did not appreciate that it is not only wet clay that will result in exploded pieces, but not being hollowed out, trapped air, impurities in the clay, too much heat applied too quickly, all can result in disaster. I expect it took a while before all these difficulties were understood and no doubt a successful outcome was initially much rarer than otherwise. Even with our industrially prepared clay and technologically advanced kilns, explosions are always a possibility.
But that wasn't the worst of it, a miniature head, irregularly modelled with one eye slightly lower than the other and one cheekbone less pronounced than the other, was interpreted as a portrait of a woman with a deformed face. What on earth is going on? This is the British Museum where one would expect expert understanding of the processes of making along with serious consideration of the metaphorical content of these works.
Still, fortunately, the works spoke powerfully for themselves, in spite of the difficulty of viewing, thanks to the press of people around the display cabinets. I have always been inspired by these masterpieces yet seeing them in the round was a far more intense experience than I had imagined - the tenderness of modelling of the Zaraysk Bison combined with its stunning clarity of form, for example, can not be communicated in a two dimensional image. The natural structure and texture of the material was exploited to express a grandeur of scale that one would not have thought possible in such a miniature object.
The Lions in the Chauvet Cave above were obviously not in this Ice Age exhibition, but it is an image I scanned from an article by Peter Campbell in LRB 28.11.2011. An artist I showed it to was disappointed, he said, by the realism. What can you say? There is no willful stylisation, perhaps that is what the artist regretted. Style is signature, and perhaps a wonderfully vital depiction lacking this authority of individual ownership, as it were, is a threat somehow to contemporary fantasy.
This is a long rant, as usual. It takes a lot of pent up frustration to get me round to bothering. This next and last bit of rant is a result of listening to a discussion about nature on Radio 4 - can't remember when or who. But the gist was that nature can no longer be discussed as a valid concept in art because all nature is subject to man's interference, and there is no longer any such thing as virgin nature. Does nature not count unless it is virginal? It's surely a misunderstanding to think that the concept of nature only has power as manifestation of an unobtainable ideal - innocent, untamed, unsullied - only sacred or powerful when uncorrupted by man's penetration (to use a provocative term, for surely there is a sexual parallel here?) What a torment for the man who longs for the virginal, but with opportunity, would break the very thing he holds sacred! What an amazing arrogance to forget the divine fury of nature along with her sacred gift of life, death and regeneration. Breughel's "Fall of Icarus" comes to mind. The ploughman pays lowly homage as he labours upon the land, whilst Icarus falls unregarded from his great height.
OK, so a scholar would query, quite rightly, what exactly is signified by my use of this term 'nature' and I am not capable of presenting a logical argument for it. I am not a philosopher, trained to handle the complex duplicity of language. I hold philosophy in high regard, but we all need some sort of narrative, however philosophically unsound. I start with the premise that we are of nature, born of it and dying into it, symbiotic within it, manipulating and manipulated by it, consuming and consumed by it, and thus I start with the premise, at least, that one can have a concept of nature very, very different from idealisation.
Perhaps the Ice Age image makers were wiser than we modern animals who mistake the replication with which we are conscious of things for the actuality. A philosopher will object to the invalidity of the term 'actual' as something that cannot be known or proved - as if only what can be honed within the structural enclosure of language can be acknowledged as sound thought. Art is language too, pictorial in its form but still structural, and the Ice Age image makers no doubt hoped to control life by replicating it, as we do, confining it within pattern and form to make believable the authority of man's will. But within their images one can yet read a lingering awe and reverence that stretches the boundaries beyond self-reference - and I found it wonderfully inspiring and life enhancing.
Sunday 24 February 2013
Mothers and Daughters
My mother, the painter Audrey Pilkington, studied at the Slade. Her new website is
http://www.audreypilkington.co.uk
My daughter, Ambrosine Allen, studied at Lancaster and Wimbledon. Her website is
The Exposed Coastal Edge, paper collage, 2012 51.5x46.5 cm
by Ambrosine Allen
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