One of the fomer councillors on the Parish Council is a keen photographer and belongs to a group, T16, whose members share an enthusiasm for creative photographic work. Every year or so they hold an outdoor exhibition and I went down to Mayfield in East Sussex today to see what was on show.
There were lots of imaginative and visually stimulating pieces of art, but what added to the interest was the way in which the surroundings were used as more than just a backdrop.
I normally find myself inside a church only for weddings and funerals but this morning Pam and I were passing St Pancras Church near Euston station and were irresistibly drawn in. There was nothing spiritual about this, but simply that there was an exhibition of glass sculptures in the crypt, called Glass Echoes 2. It was a most effective backdrop, with all the curved brick ceilings providing not just an atmospheric surrounding, but also a vivid contrast in texture to the material of the sculptures themselves.
One of our favourites was a table with a meal on it and of course the food, the crockery, the cutlery, and most impressive of all, the tablecloth were made of glass as well as the table itself.
The two of us managed to get to the Rothko exhibition at Tate Modern today. Overall we enjoyed our visit, with the room containing 14 of the Seagram murals being particularly memorable. The sheer awe-inspiring power of the works produces an almost physical impact (I mean this in a positive way, not that it made us feel sick !).
Although there were many other works, I did not manage to understand if there was any development in his styles over the last 15 years of his life. There were indeed changes, as pointed out by the audio-visual guide, but they seemed relatively small-scale.
Pam and I visited the Francis Bacon exhibition at Tate Britain today. We spent about 90 minutes going round it and were pleased to find it was not too crowded. The audio-visual guide was better than usual in that it took good advantage of its visual capabilities by showing both works that had influenced Bacon and also photos of his friends whose portraits he had painted.
The various rooms had pretty clear themes although this did not spoil the chronological flow of the works. One aspect was a little annoying, though : apparently Bacon insisted on his paintings being displayed under glass and this meant that for some of the works we appeared alongside the subject via our reflection (which might have been the intention, but I doubt it !)
We had not realised that so many (54, supposedly ?) of his paintings had been inspired by Valesquez's portrait of Pope Innocent X. Nor did we know that Bacon had a Van Gogh period, with brightly coloured works in the open air. Quite independently Pam and I thought that his "Blue Man" portraits were rather reminiscent of the later Ronald Reagon (although painted a decade or two earlier.)
All in all, it was a most interesting exhibition. As for the Tuna, we enjoyed a tuna sandwich in the cafe afterwards. Well, you don't mind splashing out in this festive season, do you.
Yesterday was the last of the four classes in my Appearances course at the Tate. Last week we had discussed ethics, while today we considered Types and Tokens. (Types are the general category while Tokens are the examples.)
Our first exercise was in pairs where we had to come up with 3 Types that we might fall into, for example I suggested retired, middle-class, short-sighted while my pair came up with brown-haired, married, female. It was not clear whether less binary Types would be useful, such as tall or rich - indeed whether any adjective would do.
Next, we had to consider how many of these Types would be apparent from a photo, and the answer was not many. We then moved into the Street and Studio exhibition to look at the work of August Sander, a photographer who snapped people in Germany during the early 30s. Nigel was rather critical of his work, claiming first that Sander was saying that it was possible to capture a typical example of, say, a postman or a policeman, and second that this was something to be condemned.
I was unconvinced on both counts. On the first point, just because the labels of his photos say "The" postman or whatever, something Nigel pointed to as support for his claim, might simply be a mistranslation of the German original given that German nouns are never free-standing unlike in English. Indeed, the captions in the gallery had no definite articles.
On the second point, we do all have characteristic images of certain professions, often with particular ages, clothes, body-shapes or whatever. Think of miners, publicans, and chefs for example. This does not mean we believe that all examples of the profession look like our stereotype, nor that anyone who looks like the image must be a member of that profession. True, we should be careful not to move from a generalisation to assuming everyone conforms to that generalisation but that does not mean that generalisations are not helpful.
As usual, Nigel provided lots of thought-provoking fare and we had a bit of a natter afterwards over a glass or two of the Tate's wine. Nigel's notes on the course can be found here. Roll on the next course.
On last week's course, we considered how much a photographic portrait could be documentary and how much a stimulus to the imagination. Yesterday we thought about the possible ethical problems in taking such photos.
(The photo above is the view from the Tate's East Room, where the course is held, "possibly the finest view from a classroom in the world".)
My team of three came up with five possible problems :
(1) The subject of the photograph might be doing something he would prefer to be kept confidential (for example, a businessman exploring whether her company might be able to carry out a takeover)
(2) The photograph might suggest the subject was doing something which they are not (for example, a non-gambler might be snapped outside a bookmakers)
(3) The subject might have some religious or superstitious objection to having their photo taken
(4) The photo might be sold without the subject receiving any money himself (for example, for use in an advertising campaign)
(5) The photographer might be taking the photograph when she could be doing something else (for example in a disaster zone)
Further discussion weakened if not entirely removed any conviction in these points. But Nigel then took us into the Street and Studio exhibition where he attacked an exhibit by Boris Mikhailov. This contained rather humiliating photos of some Russian down-and-outs which the photographer had apparently paid to look even more down-and-out than usual. Part of Nigel's problem with this was the motivation, which was supposedly to produce a work of art, rather than to draw attention to the down-and-outs' plight.
Last week on my course at Tate Modern, we looked at how photographs remind us of the claimed difference between appearance and reality. This week we looked at whether a photographic portrait was a documentary or a stimulus to imagination.
As an exercise we were asked what we could tell from a photo of someone we knew about. We then repeated the exercise for someone we died not know. Nigel suggested that with the one we knew, we really did not see the photo so much as the individual themselves. While with the photo of the unknown person, apart from the very basic attributes such as age, sex, colour of skin, everything else was our imagination at work. True, type of clothes and hairstyle might assist us, but really the photo told us nothing, Nigel claimed, with the person we saw really being a construct of our imagination.
Nigel then displayed a famous picture which one can see either a duck or a rabbit. It is possible to flick between the two although the brain cannot see both simultaneously. The retinal image stays constant while the brain's interpretation can flip-flop between the two. Nigel used this picture to illustrate Wittgenstein's "Seeing as ..." idea, drawing the parallel of the stranger's picture, where one can see what one likes, regardless of the actual source material.
Yesterday I attended the first evening in my latest course at the Tate Modern, called Appearances: Philosophy, Photography and the Self. As many of the courses I attend are (for example, see here), this is given by Nigel Warburton, a broadcaster and philosophy lecturer at the Open University.
The course is linked to the current exhibition at the Tate, Street & Studio: An Urban History of Photography. Although this exhibition has received, well, rather mixed reviews, all the critics agree that among the exhibits are some gems so there should be a good basis for the course.
Nigel started by reminding us that many philosophers have emphasized the difference between appearance and reality, for example Plato and his cave, Descrates' questioning of what we can be certain of, and John Locke's consideration of the swapping of minds between a Prince and a Pauper. With portrait photographs, assuming no accompanying text, we have just an appearance, so can we draw any conclusions about the individual concerned ?
Philosophy would suggest not, yet we all do it all the time, mostly successfully, and probably for good evolutionary reasons. Nigel suggested that perhaps philosophy merely says "we cannot be certain what the appearance implies" and not that we have no idea. We did an exercise of looking at a photograph of someone unknown to us and in some teams we came up with a reasonably uniform view of the person's age, sex, level of affluence, type of job, aas well as the decade in which the photo was taken. Nigel pointed out that we were using so-called "non-verbal cues", things such as the hair style and the clothes.
In fact the photo was of a sociologist called Erving Goffman, someone that Nigel obviously admires and was well-known to many in the audience. Unfortunately I have diametrically the opposite view. This is based on the fact that I had read his claim to fame, a book called
"The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life", which I thought was badly written, ill-argued, and possessing a conclusion which was a waste of time. (That human behaviour can be better understood by considering it a dramatic performance.)
We then as usual moved to the galleries where, again in small teams, we looked at some of the works, comparing how the photographers succeeded or otherwise in getting behind this supposed "performance".
Pam and I went to Kew today with our friends Malcolm and Mandy to see the Henry Moore exhibition. Twenty eight of his works were being shown in the open air and we managed to see most of them. We were dressed for the wintry weather but there was a lot of sunshine too. When a snow or sleet shower came, we just dived inside the nearest indoor display or café.
The works themselves were mostly very familiar but it was a joy to see them in such civilised surroundings. And the threatening weather must have deterred many potential visitors so the works were able to be viewed with little distraction from any angle.
Off today to London for the "From Russia" exhibition at the Royal Academy. The combination of familiar artists (Cézanne, Picasso) alongside unfamiliar ones Vrubel, Malyavin, Miturich) led to an unexpectedly interesting show. I found it fascinating to see how the Russian artists copied the styles of the Western Europeans (Impressionism, Futurism, Cubism) in approaching subject matter from their own culture. There were well-ahead-of-their-time anticipations of styles such as Pop Art and Minimalism, while the number of female painters was unusually high.
The exhibition was a little crowded in the early rooms but was less so later on. The crush might have been alleviated a little had there been some encouragement to walk a particular direction around each room, thus lessening the times people had to dodge each other. The audio guide was particularly good, with just the right amount of information.
After a picnic in a sunny Green Park, we walked through St James's Park, seeing a couple of pelicans. Next, we moved on to the Fairtrade exhibition on the South Bank. I did not have a go on the Helter-skelter (not sure what the Fairtrade connection was - perhaps the mats' material ?) but we both took advantage of the many free samples : coffee, chocolate, and ice-cream.
While we were in the area, we popped into a photographic exhibition in the Oxo Tower. This was part of British Tourism week and consisted of photos showing British landscape. These were undeniably attractive but even with the small number (20-30 ?) on show, quickly became rather samey before the end.
Pam belongs to the Sevenoaks branch of NADFAS (National Association of Decorative and Fine Arts). The group organises talks and outings relating to art topics. Last night there was a talk on "British Architecture Now !" given by a Mrs. Anthea Streeter, whose clear, well-structured, and enthusiastic delivery ensured a most interesting experience. The subject matter helped too.
Mrs Streeter concentrated on the last ten years, dividing the buildings into six categories :
1. Neo-modern (These are the angular glass and steel buildings common from the 1920s and 30s onwards, but nowadays with colour eg. Peckham Library)
2. Deconstructed (these are broken up shaped buildings eg. Tate Modern's proposed extension)
3. Biomorphic (these are buildings with curved lines and surfaces, perhaps inspired by the natural world eg the Media Centre at Lords)
4. Contemporary Vernacular (these use natural materials such as wood eg the Scottish Parliament)
5. Reconstruction (This is where the shell of a previous building is used, the only example of which she discussed was St Pancras)
6. Classical (eg. work by Quinlan Terry and Robert Adam, which I dislike so much I shall say no more !)
Most of the works had either won, or been short-listed for, the Stirling Prize.
There was so much she crammed into the hour long talk, nearly all of which (apart from the dreadful Classical examples) were sensational. Perhaps the architect who stood out most was Zaha Hadid, whose proposed building for Abu Dhabi is pictured at the start of the blog.
Of the existing buildings, the Kunsthaus in Graz, Austria, brought the biggest gasps from the 60 strong audience. It looked as if a Dr Who Space Bug had crashlanded into the middle of a traditional Austrian town, squashing the buildings that it had landed on. While it was unforgettable, it would be quite understandable if the locals found it extremely intrusive but apparently they are very enthusiastic.
Briefly, other buildings which were shown included the Poplar "Idea Store", Daniel Liebeskind's temporary pavilion at the Serpentine Gallery, Zaha's Aquatic Centre for the London Olympics, Foster's Sage Centre in Newcastle, Salford's Imperial War Museum, the centre being built for Sir Richard Branson's "SpacePort America" in New Mexico, and the Savill Landscape Garden at Windsor.
When are we going to be able to visit them all ?
After the Lord Mayor's Show yesterday morning, we popped into the Museum of London where they had three "sculptures" of Roman inspiration made with pizza dough (three tonnes from Pizza Express).
Impressed by this art, we moved to Tate Modern where we saw Doris Salcedo's "Shibboleth". This was an impressive experience, although I much preferred the work itself to some of the material written about it (eg. "Her work encourages us to confront uncomfortable truths about our history and about ourselves with absolute candidness, and without self-deception"), including Doris Salcedo's own comments.
Finally, we stood on Blackfriars Bridge and watched the fireworks to mark the new Lord Mayor.
The FT had a piece about a contemporary art exhibition, Reconstruction #2, out in the open air at Sudeley Castle, a few miles north-east of Cheltenham. So off we went earlier today to see it. To be honest, most of the art turned out not to be our style, although the piece in the photograph (click on it for a larger version) was quite good.
But the castle itself was quite interesting since it belongs to descendants of the Dent family who make gloves. In particular, an Emma Dent lived there in the latter part of the nineteenth century and her story and her interest in embroidery were illustrated by a fascinating exhibition. The lady on hand to answer questions was most helpful and it was well worth the time spent.
The gardens were attractive too, and included a collection of highly coloured peafowl.
Yesterday evening saw the last of the 6 sessions of my Tate course "Beyond Seeing". See week 1, week 2, week 3, and week 5 for the previous evenings I attended.
One novelty this week was that the exercise came first. Splitting into groups of three or four as usual, we looked at the Joseph Beuys work, "The Pack". Specifically we were asked to think about the non-visual aspects.
Our first job was to identify just what these aspects might be. One of my team mentioned the title itself, which certainly had not occurred to me. Another referred to whatever symbolism there might be in the work. We also considered the work along the lines of previous weeks, in other words what if we tasted or smelt the lumps of fat, what if we felt the felt (!), and so on.
Finally we concentrated on what might have been in Beuys's mind : how had he imagined the scene, whether by any of the four non-visual senses but also by his imagined sight.
For the group discussion, our team moved to another part of the room and there was quite a dramatic different aspect of the work that became apparent when someone from another team referred to the threatening feeling that the sledges produced. From where we had been standing earlier, by the side of these sledges, we had completely missed this sensation. But from our new angle it was quite clear what was being referred to. This reminder of the merit in looking at a work from lots of different physical angles, as well as conceptual ones, is a typical example of the gain from attending these courses.
Back in the "classroom with the finest view in the world", in other words the East Room on the top floor, we discussed the differences between a visual view actually seen by the eyes and a visual view imagined. I had a little difficulty because the word "image" was used exclusively to refer to that imagined view whereas for me an image is a picture (probably the result of my excessive use of a computer, where the word "image" is used in this sense.) Nigel used the Colin McGinn book "Mindscape" to list nine differences.
The last exercise was to check what we had remembered of "The Pack" when we tried to imagine it. This was a rather humbling activity but perhaps it should simply be a reminder to me to look harder before thinking. A salutary end to this enjoyable (bar week 2 !) course.
After missing a week due to my holiday in Devon, it was back to Tate Modern yesterday for the fifth week of "Beyond Seeing". (See week 1, week 2, and week 3 for earlier reports.)
The lecture portion of the session included Molyneux's Question. This was posed to the philosopher John Locke back at the end of the 17th century. Locke had stated that all our knowledge came via our senses. Molyneux asked Locke to imagine that a person blind since birth had been taught to distinguish between a sphere and a cube by touch.
His Question was whether, if the blind person was suddenly able to see, he would be able to distinguish between the two objects by sight. Locke said No.
For me, the answer has to be Yes. The blind person could tell the sphere's surface was continuous while the cube had edges. With sight, he would see the same characteristic.
I really cannot understand why Locke felt it necessary to say No because saying Yes does not go against his belief about knowledge coming via the senses. There is a long article about Molyneux's Question referenced on Nigel's blog, but the writer appears simply to be investigating where the act of distinguishing objects takes place. To me, this is irrelevant. The writer's concluding sentence is "Perception is less the result of an internal processing of sense information, and more the result of an interaction between the body and its environment" but the difference between "internal processing" and "interaction" is not clear.
It is interesting to translate Molyneux's Question from touch and sight to smell and sight. There, no amount of learning smells of two different objects would enable a suddenly sighted person to distinguish between the images of those objects. Taste and sight must be non-transferable too. Perhaps hearing and sight might work in that high-pitched sounds come from smaller objects or orifices, but how does one learn that from hearing alone ?
In the gallery, we looked at Bonnard's 1915 painting "Coffee", imagining all the different sensations we might feel if we could touch the different items depicted. I found myself feeling the tablecloth was shiny smooth, because it looked just like a plastic one. But, of course, plastic hadn't been invented then.
Following week 1 and week 2, yesterday's session dealt with "taste and 'taste'". Part of the thrust of the evening was to use the different meanings of the word "taste" but, ironically, for me part of the problem I had with the evening was the confusion in the way the word was being used.
A minor example came during the discussion following the first exercise, a fun task which involved tasting each of three different bowls of crisps. We then had to rank the crisps in order of preference before discussing our opinions with three other people. This illustrated how such an approach is unlikely to achieve consensus and how, in this context at least, taste is a rather personal quality. (One lacking in my case, because of the meal I had just consumed in the Turkish restaurant next door, but never mind.)
The problem here was that people seemed to be confusing taste with flavour and while this presumably would have been just as valid an attribute to compare, the resulting cross-purposes in the discussion were rather distracting.
A more serious problem, for me at least, came when Nigel progressed to examining whether taste is indeed only a personal assessment or whether there is a broader assessment. And if the latter, who is qualified to carry out that assessment ? The trouble here is the very fact that taste can be used in the sense that something is "to my taste" but also in the sense that something is "in good taste". More confusingly still, Nigel seemed to be using the word in a third sense, that of being of good quality.
Had these three different definitions been spelt out at the start, the subsequent discussions could have been more fruitful, I felt. We could all have accepted that a given work could have any one of the eight combinations of (a) being to one's own taste, or not, (b) being in good taste, or not, and (c) being of good quality, or not. We could then have concentrated on what potentially would have been an interesting discussion of how any individual can decide whether a given work is in good taste or not, and whether it is of good quality or not.
Possibly because of the confusion in terminology, our discussions were rather lengthy which in turn meant that our time for a gallery exercise was shorter than usual, a shame given that for me this is typically the most rewarding part of these evenings. The exercise this week involved our considering a work in the surrealist section and trying to decide whether it was of good quality or not.
My team looked at Magritte's Annunciation. There was a little conflict in our team because one member thought one should do this by consideration of the work itself (was it well composed, were its contents interesting) while another member (OK, it was me) thought that one should do this by considering whether one had heard of the work or not.
That seemed a difference of approach which might have warranted further discussion and exploration but, alas, time ran out.
Yesterday I started my sixth course at the Tate in the last 18 months, and the fourth to be given by Nigel Warburton. The course is called "Beyond Seeing" and its theme is how visual works of art can use senses other than sight. Or perhaps it could be how using senses other than sight can help one appreciate visual works.
The chat tonight started with an exercise for sets of three people. We had to identify what we were aware of via senses other than sight, and then we had to assess how reliable that information was and to say how we knew. The second exercise required us to draw a circle, an equilateral triangle, and a square on postit notes. We stuck all these notes on a table top and Nigel asked us to consider how imperfect even the best of them were.
This was an introduction to the main topic of Nigel's talk : how Philosophy through the ages has downplayed senses as a way of understanding reality. Specifically, Nigel described the arguments of Plato and Descartes. The former apparently used an image of prisoners chained in such a way that they could see only images cast by a flickering fire behind them.
The exercise in the gallery was what made it for me : we had to select a work (click on the photo to see my choice) and then had to describe it in terms of smell, taste, touch, and hearing - rather than sight.
Pam and I are keen on outdoor sculpture and visited Roche Court as a treat on our Silver Wedding anniversary many years ago. So we were pleased when our friends from Bournemouth, John and Paula, suggested we met them there. Apart from the usual works there was an Anthony Caro exhibition, which to be honest didn't do much for us. But the other exhibition, of a Sheila Girling, was much more attractive. We had not previously heard of Sheila, and her work was painting, not sculpture, but who is counting ?
We were fortunate enough to be able to go round the "Artists' Residence", a modern building inspired by Kettle's Yard, an art gallery in Cambridge we belong to. But the highlight of the visit was the usual exhibits. My two favourites were a David Nash (click on first photo for an enlarged view, and a Robert Adam. The latter would be a bit big for our garden, but perhaps that is just as well given it was priced at £90,000.
Yesterday I attended the third of the four sessions in the Tate Modern course, Four Weeks of Nothing. To see my report of the first week see here, and the second week see here.
This time we looked at Nothing being used in the meaning of what you get when you destroy everything. Simon commented that destruction can be undertaken simply for the fun of it, in a childish way, or as a precursor to creating anew, a more adult reason.
We had an exercise where we each had to think of something we would destroy. Unfortunately we all had to say what it was which took a long time, given there were 28 of us. Subjects ranged from the boringly practical such as "telephone distribution posts" (mine, I confess) to the predictable ("George W Bush") to the popular ("Daily Mail") to the personal ("my boyfriend's video games") to the worthy ("ignorance").
Simon observed that the first movement to use destruction was the Dada movement, suggesting that this was due to their experiences of World War I and the natural response "we can't carry on like this". More time was taken by asking for suggestions as to other major "the world will never be the same again" experiences, answers including "the fall of Rome" and "the French Revolution". Art reflects the popular mood, Simon proposed, quoting Picasso, Miro, and Mondrian in their enthusiasm for destruction (though not on their motivation).
He then listed seven techniques for destruction :-
(i) refuse to make sense
(ii) refuse to be beautiful
(iii) use chance
(iv) be indifferent to the work
(v) be populist rather than intellectual
(vi) use ready-mades
(vii) use collage.
We then went to the galleries, threading our way through a life drawing class using models on the staircases and escalators (no illustrations available, my apologies.)
The first work we looked at was Max Ernst's Celebes (1921). There was a long discussion here, including the observation that the components of the work were all recognisable but that the proximity and combination was deliberately unrealistic. So the items of the content had meaning, but their assembly did not. Simon contrasted this painting with Miro's A Star Carressed which was much more childlike.
Finally we looked at a work by Gorky, Waterfall. Here the process of painting was very visible, with the paint running down the canvass. Although an abstract, it contained a lot of content unlike Rothko's work, which we looked at last week.
Yesterday's session of the "Four Weeks of Nothing" course at the Tate (see here for a description of the first part) looked at the approach of Nothing being used as a means of clearing everything away.
We started with an exercise which involved drawing a couple of stick figures in pencil (in theory something we were all capable of doing but I must confess to being pleased that I didn't have to show my effort to anyone). We had to contemplate the result and note that it was impossible to avoid thinking of the story being told and of imagining the relationship between the two people represented. We then had to rub the figures out.
Now we looked at the paper and appreciated that the story remained in two forms : (a) in the fact that there were still marks on the paper, no matter how much we rubbed and (b) the figures lived on in our minds. We then had to crumple the paper up and throw it away on the floor.
On being asked how we reacted to having done this, one fellow student claimed that he found it "an affirmative act" and that he "had given it power by throwing it away." However genuine this response, I must confess to feeling that it betrayed rather too many hours spent reading academic works.
A more interesting idea came from the suggestion that if throwing something away was a liberating act, in that one was ridding oneself of an encumbrance, perhaps if taken to extremes one could lose one's sense of identity, since it's all the "encumbrances" that define us.
Our lecturer threw in a couple of quotes to consider : Wittgenstein's "What we cannot talk about, we must consign to silence" and Joyce's "silence, exile, and cunning" before taking us to the Rothko Room.
The discussion in the Rothko Room seemed to have little to do with Nothing, to be honest, being more about the relationship of Art and Religion. The one part of the discussion which seemed relevant was when Rothko was quoted as having said "That which is not revealed cannot disappoint." However, this seemed doubly flawed : (i) if the viewer is expecting something, then if his expectation is not met, surely he will be disappointed ? (ii) at best the claim is equivalent to "That which is not revealed, cannot live up to hopes."
We then looked at an earlier Rothko, called (?) Untitled. The comment here was that although Rothko shared Matisse's skill at exploiting colour, he was very much opposed to Matisse's ambition to create art "fit for an old businessman to relax with, like a comfy armchair."
Finally we looked at Carl André's Venus Forge, which consists of a line of tiles on the floor. The idea here might be that André was extracting even more out of his art, so that it wasn't clear where the work started or finished.
