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January 04, 2008
Art, Artists and the People Who Love Them (Tate Britain)
I have loved the work of British painter JMW Turner since the first day I laid eyes on one of his paintings, in the Clore Gallery of what was then just the Tate. This trip, I got to go back and revel in his stuff all over again in that same gallery in what is now known as the Tate Britain. Though Turner's work hangs all the time in the Tate, they currently have this marvelous exhibition of his watercolors, curated by David Hockney.
I spent hours in that gallery, soaking up the Turners. When I walked into a room of his later and unfinished works, it was like meeting old friends. I had a different response to them twenty years ago, I liked them, but wasn't sure I should, since his stuff became less substantial, more abstract as he developed as a painter. This time, it was pure love and joy for me in that room. Despite my aching feet (my latest pair of hiking boots weren't as good as I thought they were and I had killer tendinitis by about day six of the trip), I could have stood in there for hours. I do so love his paintings.
And this time around, thanks to the Hockney exhibit, I got to discover how much I enjoyed Turner's watercolors as well. I hadn't realized that he began as a watercolor painter, and that he was self-taught, and rather late at that, to work in oils. It explains so much about his approach. And about why he developed the way he did as a painter. I think I spent two hours in the Clore Gallery alone.
After which, David and I split up so that I could go through the (not-free) Millais Exhibit which he was about as not interested in seeing as a person can be. He was good enough to do the Turner stuff more or less with me, and he discovered a new artist he likes, John Piper, so I can't really complain. I mean, we have known for years that except under extraordinary circumstances, I take two to three times longer to go through a museum or gallery than Dave does. Plus, I expect he needed some alone time. He didn't get much of that this trip, and my visit to the Tate Britain was an excellent opportunity for him.
The Tate Britain, taken from in front of our hotel.
So he left, and I paid my money and got a set of headphones with which to listen to various bits of information about Pre-Raphaelite founder and youngest ever painter to be accepted into the Royal Academy school, John Everet Millais.
I had seen some of his stuff before, I love the Pre-Raphaelites, but I wasn't prepared for the impact some of his paintings had on me. Christ in the House of His Parents (The Carpenter’s Shop) was even more vivid and powerful than I remember, and Mariana also made me stop breathing for a minute, though I didn't recall seeing that painting before. I'm half tempted to buy a print of it. There's something so gorgeous about the way she's stretching.
And then I wandered around to the other side of the room and saw Ophelia.
Now I had seen this painting before. I remember it from the last time I was in London. I thought it was really pretty then, though I had more of a thing for Dante Gabriel Rossetti's stuff. But this time... this time... I don't know what it was about seeing her this time... I snapped out of my trance who knows how many minutes later. I completely lost myself in that painting. That's never happened to me before, I've always been apart from the work. But something about it this time sucked me right in.
I spent two hours in the first two rooms of the seven room exhibit. Half an hour in the third room and about thirty minutes in the other four. Because unlike Turner, who I think became more compelling as an artist, Millais' later works strike me as insipid. I slowed down a bit for the landscapes, because there were some really beautiful works there, but his fancy pictures and portraits? Not so much. I'm sorry, but the fact that one of his paintings became a soap advertisement may mean that it's one of his most recognizable. It certainly doesn't make it one of his best, in my opinion.
Then I wandered through looking for the Hogarths and the Pre-Raphaelites before leaving, since I'd spent six hours in that building and needed to meet Dave for dinner. I'm sorry, but I'm a sucker for an artist who is willing to do a self-portrait with his dog that emphasizes their similiarities. I've always loved Hogarth. I suspect he had a wicked sense of humor.
I was a little worried, because I was going to have to walk through the room of Joshua Reynolds. Talk about insipid. Ugh. His paintings have left me cold since the day I saw my first. (Come to think of it, that's what Millais' fancy pictures remind me of.) But on the way through that gallery, I saw a piece I liked. I was surprised, but I'm willing to admit my tastes have changed over twenty years, and so I stopped to take a look, to figure out what it was that caught my fancy. I don't even recall the name of the painting. All I remember is the huge sense of relief that I felt when I realized that it wasn't Reynolds, but a contemporary (I can't recall his name either). I'm so glad my detestation of Sir Joshua Reynolds' paintings can continue unabated.
Which reminds me. Another English painter I've never, ever liked is John Constable. I realize that part of my issue is that he was pre-photography and was striving for photo-realism. But his stuff is just to fussy for me, and now that cameras are here, I think they do the job much better. So let him pass on into the twilight, thank you. But then I saw one of his watercolors. (I couldn't find the one I was after online, so this will have to do. It tells the story, anyway)
For those of you who don't know about painting, let me explain the crucial difference--I think--between oils and watercolors. Oils stay malleable. They can be worked, they take a little more time to dry, and they're more or less opaque. Watercolors? Not so much. You're pretty much stuck with what you put on paper, you can't cover it up and fix a mistake in a watercolor. In other words, you can't fuss. And now that I've seen what the man could do when he wasn't allowed to get all finicky with his painting, I have to say, I love the energy and life and movement in his watercolors. There's so much freedom in his watercolors and sketches. I still can't stand his work in oils.
You know, this was going to cover two other museums and a couple of shows. Obviously, those are going to need separate entries. This has gone on for far too long.
One final thing, before I go do some other stuff. The thing that prompted the title to this entry: The Tate Britain, Tate Modern and British Museums are all free. They have some of the most amazing works of art in the Western World, and you don't have to pay a penny to get in, unless you're going to a special exhibit. And London is full of works of art outside of these three wonderful places as well, sculptures and monuments and--I could go on forever. It was so wonderful to be in a city where people with money and political power think art is an important part of public life. So that we can see this stuff all around us, so it can settle into and influence our lives. Because it does anyway, so why not make it about beauty and intellect and emotional impact rather than just advertising?
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Despite what the map says, C is the Tate Britain, D is the Tate Modern.
There is a boat, very cleverly called the Tate a Tate--which is what I would have named it myself--that travels between the two. I did not get to ride it. We ran out of time.
Posted by sally at January 4, 2008 09:46 AM
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