Monet & the Impresssionists

After many travels and a myriad of art museums and exhibitions there's a big gap in my blog waiting to be filled. So many highlights - Marlene Dumas at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles and Picasso & his collection in Brisbane come to mind - just a couple of the standout shows I've been privileged to see recently.

I'm going to start with the most recent however - Monet and the Impressionists at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. (11 Oct 2008 - 26 Jan 2009) An unexpected trip across the Tasman had me enjoying some warm Sydney sunshine and seizing the opportunity to see this popular exhibition. Rooms full of gorgeous Monet paintings are hard to resist! Actually, popular is an understatement - at 10.30am on a Monday morning the exhibition was already filling up fast. It is somewhat disconcerting after the relative emptiness of New Zealand to experience the crush of many people. Particularly so when one is transfixed by a flurry of colour and brushstrokes, only to step back and suddenly discover a wall of drones behind, ears glued to the insidious audio guides as they stand obediently absorbing the interpretation buzzing in their ear and proceeding from one painting to the next in somewhat robotic fashion as directed by their trusty audio guide. Forget that I say!

It's not difficult to fathom the enduring appeal of Monet and the associated Impressionists. All the plethora of bad reproductions and tacky tourist paraphernalia plastered with Monets fail to do justice to nor detract from the sheer beauty and shimmering colour of the paintings which after 100 years still look fresh and wonderful. Ironically these fleeting moments in time, "Impressions", have proven to be timeless in appeal.

It is rewarding to look closely at the works - forms dissolve into a web of coloured brushstrokes, colours become discrete. In a small work I have not seen before, "Poplars at Giverny" 1887, I discover the tree trunks are long lavender strokes. There is an intense feeling of light, freedom and energy in these paintings, particularly in the work from the 1880s and also in the in the later Waterlilies. The three works depicting the the Ravine of the Petite Creuse are very strong, slightly darker in tonality to the pastel shades of Morning on the Seine, near Giverny 1897 hung nearby. In the hands of lesser artists the riot of colour would descend into chaos but in Monet's assured hands he strikes the perfect balance.

It is interesting to see a contrast between the earlier works which appear to be painted quickly and confidently and the later series - Haystacks and Rouen Cathedral - in which the extensive reworking is clearly seen by the dense layers of paint and thick texture. Any artist can relate to the crisis of confidence and dissatisfaction with works in progress that this reworking indicates. Apparently Monet destroyed a number of canvases he was unhappy with towards the end of his life. One can only wonder what these were like and suspects that they would have been prized and valued despite the artist's misgivings.

Callum Innes

Museum of Contemporary Art, Sydney
11 December 2007 - 9 March 2008

I've visited this exhibition on a couple of occasions now and came away with different impressions both times. Considerable writing has already been devoted to the explaining and interpreting of his work so I think I will steer clear of adding to this unwieldy mass of interpretation. Sometimes the modern art world can seem like some big pyramid scheme feeding on itself and destined for an ungraceful collapse, and the proliferation of theory a symptom of this self-combustion and self-propograting.

Imagine a spacious gallery filled with really big abstract paintings with panels of white, purple and black. On the other side of the room in another painting a jewel green tone contrasts with inky black. The fashion equivalent is the striking jewel green silk dress in the movie "Atonement", currently making waves. In another area an intensely bright orange panel jumps out. A tall painting of rusty red tones with many channels of lines created by the use of solvents to dissolve paint impresses. Callum Innes' paintings are serious works, part of a now-established tradition of large-scale abstract paintings. The titles often refer to the colours used in the works - eg. "Exposed Painting Cobalt Violet". Many of the visitors struggle with the works, unable to connect or comprehend - large scale minimal abstraction continues to challenge and provoke. One could argue that Callum Innes is a painter's painter.

These works are actually a kind of de-abstraction, paint is stripped away, surfaces are dissolved. In a world where so much is wasted and polluted one can't help cringe a little at the large-scale use of toxic solvents to scour and strip away layers of paint. His is one studio I wouldn't want to spend too much time in! But the end results are beautiful, refined and worth taking time to ponder.

Cut and Paste

Cut and paste - Sydney November 17th

Cut and paste is the graphic design equivalent of a dance-off. Contestants have 15 minutes to create a static visual piece based on a given theme. Sponsored by Wacom (amongst others) it is a chance for contestants to win the latest pricey new design technology, such as the new Cintiq. Last night I went along to the Sydney version of this worldwide event.

I was hoping to see some design mavericks who would make me feel somewhat inferior with their impressive technical and creative skills. But whilst the quality of the contestants was obviously very high in their respective areas the results very generally a bit disappointing. The weakness lay often in the initial ideas which generally were not terribly strong. The set themes did not help, especially the final one - "to be popular at parties" with the added condition "your canvas is an awning." So very Sydney.

To be fair I think the structure of the contest favoured cartoonists and illustrators who can very quickly draw a fairly simple concept. There was very little use of typography and although the use of the technology was one of the criteria they were judged on some of the contestants did not make much use of the software capabilities. The different approaches were quite interesting - the play-dough piece seemed to be popular - and did highlight diverse approaches to design.

Style is influenced to some degree by the tools available and there is plenty of evidence of this in current design trends. The interesting thing about the new technology is that it does seem to favour traditional drawing skills. At last one can simply draw on a screen as though one is drawing on paper and the result is digitised instantly.

Judging by the large numbers who attended Sydney could use a few more events focusing on design. It does seem that the audience is somewhat starved of the chance to see design and in this case other designers at work. Modern graphic design is a product of it's time and the fast-paced and transient nature of the type of work created did seem to echo the current urban cultural soup.

http://www.cutandpaste.com/events

Brett Whiteley Studio, Surry Hills, Sydney

(An entirely subjective review)

The use of the artist's studio as an exhibition space and museum devoted to their life and work is an interesting development in the modern gallery system. I first encountered this in Dublin where Francis Bacon's studio has been recreated piece by piece in all it's messy overwhelming detail. His claustrophobic studio is like a complete archeological dig of his life and paintings. There is something quite odd about the idea of it being packed up and shipped to Dublin and them reassembled piece by piece. The rather good DVD playing in the Brett Whitely studio showed him painting two portraits of Francis Bacon. In contrast to Francis Bacon's studio Brett Whiteley's Surry Hills studio is spacious and represents for me something close to an ideal creative space with large ceilings and plenty of room to both create and exhibit works. (one day maybe... sigh)

I find these sorts of spaces quite fascinating, offering perhaps a slightly voyeuristic look in an artist's life. Of particular interest to me were the artist's sketchbooks which have been photocopied and are available for perusal. Sometimes these can be quite personal, I couldn't help thinking about what I write and draw in my own sketchbooks and wondered how I would feel about having them available for public display - sometimes they are part diary and I had the uncomfortable notion that I'd prefer them to remain private. (Still - am not a famous controversial artist so the danger of this scenario is very unlikely and distant). Brett Whiteley's sketchbooks were full of portraits and landscapes, and the occasional female nude polaroid. The portraits are fantastic. I found the drawings of landscapes and portraits the most appealing parts of his work.

The influence of Zen brush painting was prevalent in his works. I recently visited an excellent exhibition of Zen painting at the Art Gallery of New South Wales which coincided nicely with previous investigations into Zen whilst in Auckland. Other engagement with painting tradition such as the influence of Surrealism, Expressionism and echoes of Matisse were also evident throughout Brett Whiteley's work. Some of the collage elements appealed, but I did not find all were equally successful. In some cases the quality of the materials seemed to let down the works a bit and the house paints I spotted lurking in his studio area did not help allay this impression. I'm a bit of a stickler for using quality materials and pigment-starved paints that peel off over time do not appeal.

I was happy to see a pile of National Geographic magazines being somewhat partial to them myself as a source of information and inspiration. Local birds and landscapes recur frequently in his work, these lyrical and visions contrast with some of the more disturbed, addiction influenced paintings. Upstairs a bronze pelican caught my eye but in general I found the drawings and paintings more compelling than the sculptures dotted around the studio space. I also particularly liked the story of coming across a book of Van Gogh's work at the age of 13 and how it completely changed his way of seeing. A visit to the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam is a personal highlight for me so couldn't help but be impressed by the centrality of this artist to his practice. Finally, the quotes written on the wall upstairs are great. Some examples:

Morality=Tumor

Anything becomes interesting if you look at it long enough - Flaubert

Oysters Think

Painting is an argument between what it looks like and what it means

Looking at art

"By their very nature, most galleries do nothing to encourage intimate encounters with the art they show. They are interested in getting as many people as possible through the front door, not in fostering contemplation of the art. Even the most visitor-friendly tend to be cold and unwelcoming, designed to impress rather than reassure. If seating is provided, it will be the sort that says: 'You may perch here for a moment or two, but don't make yourself comfortable'.

From "What's wrong with contemporary art?' by Peter Timms, p.109

I once sat for quite a long time in a recent Giacometti exhibition watching the people looking at the sculptures, listening half-heartedly to the guided tour that came by me, and in the quieter moments just looking around me at the sculptures which at times seemed to me to resemble shadows. Peter Timm's comments remind me of how easy it is to have a very superficial experience of art within gallery environments, as we struggle through crowds at popular exhibitions and try to ignore tired feet.

Living very close to the Art Gallery of New South Wales I find myself being able to return to favourite works more easily and frequently than would otherwise be the case, and subsequently I have noticed an interesting shift in the way I am experiencing those works. In a culture where we are encouraged towards fast-paced, somewhat superficial mass consumption, it is a refreshing change to pause and absorb complex works of art over a longer period of time, without recourse to theory or discourse, but simply to look and experience the pleasure that this type of discovery brings.

Eyes, Lies and Illusions

Eyes, Lies and Illusions

2 November 2006 - 11 February 2007
acmi (australian centre for the moving image)
Melbourne

A fantastic illustration for this exhibition enticed me to take a look inside whilst in Melbourne recently. So I wandered in on a Sunday morning only to be informed that the exhibition had a delayed opening time because the cleaners had accidently cleaned up a pile of rubbish in a corner which was in fact part of one of the exhibits. I'm sure I have heard of similar mishaps befalling other exhibits of modern art. Fortunately the rubbish was replaced with another equally suitable pile of rubbish and so the crisis averted. So it was with this reminder of the precarious nature of modern art's status as art and not rubbish that I approached the show.

According to the flyer provided the exhibition 'explores the art and science of visual perception from the Renaissance to the present day,' a promise which it did not disappoint. A wide variety of objects from shadow puppets to the photographs of Muybridge provided an excellent overview of the pre-history of modern cinema. I also attended a magic lantern show by Dr Ian Edwards which was a reminder of simpler times with it's straightforward visual humour and 'special effects' created by using two glass slides.

Of particular interest to me was a Camera Lucida, used by artists to draw objects in perspective, and a beautiful object called a Heliopyrograph, a glass ball which burns a trace onto paper to measure the intensity of sunlight.

Other treats included dioramas and perspective boxes, some of which were very intricate, and pictures inscribed with holes and with translucent areas lit from behind. Although very simple these were surprisingly effective and quite magical. Toys of sedition from France were another favourite - objects which cast shadows revealing profiles of prominent political figures of the day, signaling one's allegiances.

The collection also included Duchamp's Rotoreliefs and a selection of more recent works, such as Christian Boltanski's Les Bourgies (The Candles) 1986, fragile skeletal copper figurines casting equally fragile wavering shadows.

An unusual and rewarding exhibition, drawn from a collection accumulated by German experimental filmmaker Werner Nekes, it would be very appealing to anyone with an interest in perception.
(Note: imagery is copyright Werner Nekes).

Sydney Biennale - Final Notes

Yelena Vorobyeva and Viktor Vorobyev at Sydney College of the Arts

This installation consisted of a series of photos and objects from Kazakstan in the 1990s. Each photo was a snippet from the bazaars where people (mainly pensioners) would sell things from their homes in order to survive. The motley collections of household contents are shown with a quote from the sellers and a item from each that the artists purchased. The small collections speak eloquently of poverty amongst the elderly and the struggle to survive hard times. The goods are spread out on bits of cardboard and cloth, in some cases over the snow-covered ground. Some of the objects were the sort of things that would be considered worthless in more affluent countries - such as old bras, random bits of crockery and used stuffed toys. Items from the Soviet era are intermingled with cheap Chinese goods in a sort of historical pastiche of changing political and economic systems washing over the area. One struck me in particular - a selection of teeth from various animals, which the seller recommends setting into one's jaw if they match: do-it-yourself false teeth for those without access to dentists. A sobering exhibit that brings into sharp relief the comparative affluence and comfortable circumstances of it's intended audiences.

(Apologies for the poor photos, have had to resort to using phone camera for now due to laptop problems)

John Reynolds at the Art Gallery of New South Wales

My final comment on the Sydney Biennale is reserved for New Zealander John Reynolds 'Cloud', installed at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. The quirky 'New Zealandisms' that make up the work are taken from Harry Orsman's Dictionary of New Zealand English. The words are drawn in silver on a large number of small white canvases spread across the walls of the main foyer of the gallery - a long white 'cloud' of little canvases and words. Being a New Zealander it was a gentle and whimsical reminder of home. I wondered what people unfamiliar with the terms would make of it. The happy convergence of art and language makes for an interesting installation.

The Sydney Biennale has been an interesting and diverse exploration of unfamiliar and familiar artists. I have only managed to catch a small cross-section of the many works on offer, but I am already looking forward to experiencing it again in the future.

Sydney Biennale at Artspace, Woolloomooloo

On Sunday I took a little time out from the extraordinary sunshine outside to have a look at what the Sydney Biennale had brought to Artspace in Woolloomooloo.

Tokyo artist Unjino Muneteru takes ordinary objects such as a hairdryer, juicers, an old wooden-housed radio, lamps and even a 1984 Ford Falcon and hooks them up to turntables to create music. The piece is entitled 'The Rotators." According to the little brochure accompanying the Biennale, "The work is based on the fact that most electronically-controlled products function/operate through rotation." (p.25) The turntables in this installation were playing records incised with pencil ends, which in turn triggered various other sound and lighting effects amongst the objects. The whole effect is a bit like what you would imagine might happen if the ordinary household objects that surround us came alive when we weren't around. A bit like an artist's Toy Story. It is a slightly surreal installation - the 'music' a vaguely hypnotic collection of simple rhythms and sounds. My companion noted the parallel with other works in the same vein - such as the group "From Scratch" which also used everyday and unlikely things (including natural materials) to create unusual sound performances. (see http://www.sonicsfromscratch.co.nz/fromscratch.php) Music and sound intersecting with 'trash art' or art that incorporates found objects is alive and well it seems in the work of Unjino.

There are a couple of quirky pieces by Jose Damasceno on display which also incorporate found objects, and a series of photographs from France by Finnish artist Elina Brotherus.

The video work of Tacita Dean is a little less fathomable and accessible to the audience. Tacita Dean's video piece prompted frustration from a viewer nearby who exclaimed, "if they could just provide some explanations!" Encountering a work such as this for the first time without any idea as to the background of the artist and their intentions in creating the work is somewhat bewildering. One has to ask the question - if the work fails to communicate something to viewers without an explanation handy then is it failing on a fundamental level? Video and performance art in particular often suffers from this lack of engagement and ability to communicate with a wider audience.

Here is what the Artspace website had to say about the work by Tacita Dean:

"British-born, Germany-based artist Tacita Dean will exhibit her moving film Boots, 2003. Boots is filmed in the Casa de Serralves, Porto, Portugal. Dean asked a family friend, the architect Robert Steane, affectionately known as ‘Boots’, to wander through the rooms of the Casa. The film is made in three versions of 20 minutes duration in English, French and German. Exhibited separately, each version shows ‘Boots’ entering a different façade and, as if inhabited by the memory of the space, speaks to the passing of human lives and the aspirations they embodied".

Well I think I will leave the explanation at that juncture and perhaps go delving into the problems of performance and video art in more detail on less sunny day!