with selected slides and a sample of featured artworks
Introduction
'In this presentation I locate my artistic position in three dimensions which, broadly speaking, relate to ‘body’, ‘mind’ and ‘spirit’.
'In this presentation I locate my artistic position in three dimensions which, broadly speaking, relate to ‘body’, ‘mind’ and ‘spirit’.
I consider artworks, my own included, under these three aspects.
- Firstly, under the aspect of ‘body’, I consider how closely artworks match our everyday perceptions of the physical world. The formal, physical qualities of the works themselves, their facture, also has relevance.
- Secondly, in referring to ‘mind’ I consider the place of ideas in the realisation and reception of artworks.
- Thirdly, ‘spirit’ refers to psychological, emotional and spiritual content, plus the motivation that drives artists to create.
BODY: Physical dimension
Looking at my images you can’t help but see real places. They’re unmistakably landscapes, because they incorporate recognisable things in natural colours in largely convincing spaces with apparent depth.
Looking at my images you can’t help but see real places. They’re unmistakably landscapes, because they incorporate recognisable things in natural colours in largely convincing spaces with apparent depth.
Fig 1. River Walk (October): Grey Sky (2018)
This, of course, is by no means the only way to capture places on canvas or paper. At one extreme there’s the paradoxical realism of Nicolas Poussin’s wholly fictitious views. At the other, Peter Lanyon’s abstractions from named concrete places that seem to be landscapes, until you actually look at them.
Then there are Richard Diebenkorn’s ‘landscapes’; paintings that aren’t, in fact, anything of the sort. Early and late abstractions that have no explicit reference to any literal source. Yet it’s hard not to read these as alluding to the places that, misleadingly, appear in their titles. I think it’s because of the colours. Speaking of his Albuquerque paintings the curator of his 2015 Royal Academy show, wrote ‘The dusty whites, tans, reds, ochres, oranges, yellows and pinks of his environment are seemingly baked into many of his paintings’ (Diebenkorn 2015: 20). Which catches it just right.
Then there are Richard Diebenkorn’s ‘landscapes’; paintings that aren’t, in fact, anything of the sort. Early and late abstractions that have no explicit reference to any literal source. Yet it’s hard not to read these as alluding to the places that, misleadingly, appear in their titles. I think it’s because of the colours. Speaking of his Albuquerque paintings the curator of his 2015 Royal Academy show, wrote ‘The dusty whites, tans, reds, ochres, oranges, yellows and pinks of his environment are seemingly baked into many of his paintings’ (Diebenkorn 2015: 20). Which catches it just right.
Fig. 2 Berkeley #3 (1953)
Diebenkorn himself was relaxed enough to acknowledge the connections, saying: ‘If grass green and sky blue and desert tan; if these associations come into the work, that’s part of my experience' (Diebenkorn 2015: 23).
Whilst I readily accept that Diebenkorn incidentally captured the colours of his surroundings, I have far less patience with references to an ill-defined ‘sense of place’. If a picture does correspond to a place then this must be mediated by some specific visible features. Maybe the colours, as with Diebenkorn. Maybe distinctive shapes. But something identifiable.
Matthew Burrows (2020) makes paintings that he says are neither firmly representational nor firmly abstract. He speaks of feeling ‘part of the landscape’, of incorporating this feeling in his paintings, of ‘not picturing landscape, but the experience of being in it,’ and of landscape being ‘implicitly there’ (Burrows, 2020). All of which feels perilously close to appealing to the sloppy-to-the-point-of-being-useless concept of ‘sense of place’, with, to my mind, little visible outworking in the pictures themselves. This is not to decry the paintings, many of which I find arresting, but it does question how useful the so-called ‘explanations’ that lie behind them are.
Whilst I readily accept that Diebenkorn incidentally captured the colours of his surroundings, I have far less patience with references to an ill-defined ‘sense of place’. If a picture does correspond to a place then this must be mediated by some specific visible features. Maybe the colours, as with Diebenkorn. Maybe distinctive shapes. But something identifiable.
Matthew Burrows (2020) makes paintings that he says are neither firmly representational nor firmly abstract. He speaks of feeling ‘part of the landscape’, of incorporating this feeling in his paintings, of ‘not picturing landscape, but the experience of being in it,’ and of landscape being ‘implicitly there’ (Burrows, 2020). All of which feels perilously close to appealing to the sloppy-to-the-point-of-being-useless concept of ‘sense of place’, with, to my mind, little visible outworking in the pictures themselves. This is not to decry the paintings, many of which I find arresting, but it does question how useful the so-called ‘explanations’ that lie behind them are.
Fig. 3 La Petite Morte (2017)
Anyway, in such company it’s clear that my image-making is a good long way up the representational scale. Look closer, though, and this breaks down. Detail is never revealed by getting nearer. Quite the opposite. Once-discernible ‘objects’ become ill-defined patches of colour with bare canvas showing through. What, from a distance, is so clearly a view becomes manifestly also just a thing, a textured board smeared with pigment. There is abstraction… but only up close.
MIND: Conceptual dimension
Now, consider the second of my three dimensions, the conceptual one. At its highest point are artworks that are virtually nothing without the ideas behind them. For example, Sophie Calle’s photographs in her ‘Suite Vénitienne’. These would be of little interest without knowledge of the circumstances in which they were taken. Only knowing this can the viewer be intrigued, amused, provoked by this work, in which an idea is central.
Now, consider the second of my three dimensions, the conceptual one. At its highest point are artworks that are virtually nothing without the ideas behind them. For example, Sophie Calle’s photographs in her ‘Suite Vénitienne’. These would be of little interest without knowledge of the circumstances in which they were taken. Only knowing this can the viewer be intrigued, amused, provoked by this work, in which an idea is central.
Fig. 4 Suite Venitienne (detail) (1988)
And ideas in landscapes? No one would deny that pictures of places remain popular, but the critic Malcolm Andrews (1999) hazards the view that: ‘as a phase in the cultural life of the West, landscape may already be over.’ And this, presumably, because it’s not clear what such imagery has to say about contemporary concerns.
Well, reviewing the fruits of a decade of weekends depicting views near my home – what I now smilingly call my ‘naïve period’ – I wonder if they have only decorative appeal. But it’s not only the naïve who’re at it. The eighty-two painters in Bradway’s 2019 book, 'Landscape Painting Now', have persisted too.
Maureen Gallace is one of the eighty-two. There’s no mistaking her pictures’ ostensible realistic content, but their distinctive look hints at her subject being something other, or something more, than the houses, flowers and skies that fill each modest panel. An uncanny atmosphere, at odds with realistic expectations, provokes the viewer to wonder what Gallace might be getting at.
The formal devices that snag the viewer’s attention are easy to identify. A clean light, no people at all, buildings devoid of windows and doors, and what one reviewer has called ‘momentary ruptures in perspective’ (Art Observed, 2017).
Well, reviewing the fruits of a decade of weekends depicting views near my home – what I now smilingly call my ‘naïve period’ – I wonder if they have only decorative appeal. But it’s not only the naïve who’re at it. The eighty-two painters in Bradway’s 2019 book, 'Landscape Painting Now', have persisted too.
Maureen Gallace is one of the eighty-two. There’s no mistaking her pictures’ ostensible realistic content, but their distinctive look hints at her subject being something other, or something more, than the houses, flowers and skies that fill each modest panel. An uncanny atmosphere, at odds with realistic expectations, provokes the viewer to wonder what Gallace might be getting at.
The formal devices that snag the viewer’s attention are easy to identify. A clean light, no people at all, buildings devoid of windows and doors, and what one reviewer has called ‘momentary ruptures in perspective’ (Art Observed, 2017).
Fig. 5 June 24th (2016)
But if Gallace is getting at something, she’s not telling. What she has said is that her frequently repeated house motif is ‘an empty vessel’ (MoMA, 2017). Well, it’s an emptiness that commentators have filled with alacrity. For one, Gallace’s simplicity leaves room for ‘the viewer to attach his or her own narratives to the scene' (Artsy, 2020). For another, her ‘paintings tap into a pervasive national anxiety, an ill-defined feeling of threat coupled with a nagging sense that a bright promise is faltering and may be already gone’ (Volk, 2017). (Wow.)
If my images stand a chance of ‘getting at something’ of current interest, as I hope they might, then it’ll probably be found somewhere amongst three features. First: in the repetition over time of motifs drawn from a tight, local source. Second: in being displayed close to each other, perhaps as part of a sequence ordered by time or geography. And third: in the tension between gestural marks and a resolved image that I’ve already discussed.
If my images stand a chance of ‘getting at something’ of current interest, as I hope they might, then it’ll probably be found somewhere amongst three features. First: in the repetition over time of motifs drawn from a tight, local source. Second: in being displayed close to each other, perhaps as part of a sequence ordered by time or geography. And third: in the tension between gestural marks and a resolved image that I’ve already discussed.
Fig. 6 Bright Morning Walk (2020)
I’m intrigued by the themes of phenomenology: an emphasis on parts and wholes, presence and absence, and the understanding that perception is always an achievement. I think these ideas chime with some of what’s in my pictures, and it’s these that I hope to develop.
But, for the time being, signs are that I’m some way down the ideas scale.
But, for the time being, signs are that I’m some way down the ideas scale.
SPIRIT: Spiritual dimension
Now, the third dimension of feelings and motivation.
I suspect that my wish to celebrate the places where I live may be rooted in a religious impulse of praise, impressed on me through a benign Christian upbringing. I now articulate it as a two-fold sense of wonder that (a) there is a world and (b) I’m here to see it; which strikes me as extraordinary.
In its turn from figuration, art has often become preoccupied by ‘the world or worlds that we carry around in our heads or in our language’ (Edwards, 1994: 34). Raymond Mason, however, was committed to a ‘close adhesion to the immediacy of the multiple facets of the real world’ (Edwards, 1994: 13) – to a world far larger than the self – and to devising ‘an art which gives access to (it),’ so as to ‘express and, if possible, to exalt (it)’ (Edwards, 1994: 8). He attempted this chiefly in his polychrome sculptures, notably monumental ones like ‘The Grape-Pickers’ but also in more modestly scaled landscapes.
Mason found his ‘world-larger-than-the-self’ precisely where he already was. Michael Edwards, author of Mason’s monograph and friend, explains that for Mason ‘the place of art is essentially here’, so his landscapes have their origin simply in ‘the raising of [his] eyes' (Edwards, 1994: 137).
Mason sought to share his sense of exaltation. His art, says Edwards, ‘endeavours to leave the self and go out towards others, to make itself understood’ (Edwards, 1994: 8). It’s an art ‘which gives access… in a way that, on one level at least, anyone can understand’ (Edwards, 1994: 23). I applaud that unsophisticated generosity.
Now, the third dimension of feelings and motivation.
I suspect that my wish to celebrate the places where I live may be rooted in a religious impulse of praise, impressed on me through a benign Christian upbringing. I now articulate it as a two-fold sense of wonder that (a) there is a world and (b) I’m here to see it; which strikes me as extraordinary.
In its turn from figuration, art has often become preoccupied by ‘the world or worlds that we carry around in our heads or in our language’ (Edwards, 1994: 34). Raymond Mason, however, was committed to a ‘close adhesion to the immediacy of the multiple facets of the real world’ (Edwards, 1994: 13) – to a world far larger than the self – and to devising ‘an art which gives access to (it),’ so as to ‘express and, if possible, to exalt (it)’ (Edwards, 1994: 8). He attempted this chiefly in his polychrome sculptures, notably monumental ones like ‘The Grape-Pickers’ but also in more modestly scaled landscapes.
Mason found his ‘world-larger-than-the-self’ precisely where he already was. Michael Edwards, author of Mason’s monograph and friend, explains that for Mason ‘the place of art is essentially here’, so his landscapes have their origin simply in ‘the raising of [his] eyes' (Edwards, 1994: 137).
Mason sought to share his sense of exaltation. His art, says Edwards, ‘endeavours to leave the self and go out towards others, to make itself understood’ (Edwards, 1994: 8). It’s an art ‘which gives access… in a way that, on one level at least, anyone can understand’ (Edwards, 1994: 23). I applaud that unsophisticated generosity.
Fig. 7 The Approaching Storm (1974)
Conclusion
So where does my three-part triangulation leave me?
In sentiment, close to Raymond Mason, and rather distant from Matthew Burrows. In facture, attracted to Richard Diebenkorn. In all respects, a long way from Sophie Calle, but a relatively close neighbour of Maureen Gallace, I think.
So where does my three-part triangulation leave me?
In sentiment, close to Raymond Mason, and rather distant from Matthew Burrows. In facture, attracted to Richard Diebenkorn. In all respects, a long way from Sophie Calle, but a relatively close neighbour of Maureen Gallace, I think.
What next? I'll take insights gained from this analysis to inform my continuing aesthetic response to the immediate locality. I'll seek ways to snag my viewers' attention so they're invited to take a step beyond glib recognition of the landscape forms that I use.
I've already stated some of the formal and thematic leads that I'll follow up to achieve this. Namely: using only motifs that stay close to home, exhibiting images sequentially, and giving attention to my mark-making vocabulary.
One new, metaphorical, theme that I'll develop is to create a conversation between paintings, prints and sculptural pieces. I will stress relationships not only within, but between the various media that I use.
I've already stated some of the formal and thematic leads that I'll follow up to achieve this. Namely: using only motifs that stay close to home, exhibiting images sequentially, and giving attention to my mark-making vocabulary.
One new, metaphorical, theme that I'll develop is to create a conversation between paintings, prints and sculptural pieces. I will stress relationships not only within, but between the various media that I use.
Bibliography
Andrews, M. (1999) Landscape and Western Art Oxford: Oxford University Press
Art Observed (2017) Maureen Gallace: Clear Day at MoMA PS1 through September 10th 2017 Available at: http://artobserved.com/2017/09/new-york-maureen-gallace-clear-day-at-moma-ps1-through-september-10th-2017/ (Accessed: 24 November 2020)
Artsy (2020) Maureen Gallace Available at: https://www.artsy.net/artist/maureen-gallace (Accessed: 24 November 2020)
Bradway, T. (ed.) (2019) Landscape Painting Now: From Pop Abstraction to New Romanticism London: Thames and Hudson
Burrows, M. (2020) ‘Postgraduate lecture’ [Online artist’s talk] MF7004 Aspects of Contemporary Arts Practice Bath Spa University. 2 November
Diebenkorn, R. (2015) Richard Diebenkorn Royal Academy of Arts, London, 14 March – 7 June [Exhibition catalogue]
Edwards, M. (1994) Raymond Mason London: Thames and Hudson
MoMA (2017) Maureen Gallace: Clear Day Available at: https://www.moma.org/calendar/exhibitions/3828 (Accessed: 23 November 2020)
Volk, G. (2017) Maureen Gallace’s Uneasy Sublime Available at: https://hyperallergic.com/376173/maureen-gallace-clear-day-moma-ps1-2017/ (Accessed 23 November 2020)
List of Illustrations
Andrews, M. (1999) Landscape and Western Art Oxford: Oxford University Press
Art Observed (2017) Maureen Gallace: Clear Day at MoMA PS1 through September 10th 2017 Available at: http://artobserved.com/2017/09/new-york-maureen-gallace-clear-day-at-moma-ps1-through-september-10th-2017/ (Accessed: 24 November 2020)
Artsy (2020) Maureen Gallace Available at: https://www.artsy.net/artist/maureen-gallace (Accessed: 24 November 2020)
Bradway, T. (ed.) (2019) Landscape Painting Now: From Pop Abstraction to New Romanticism London: Thames and Hudson
Burrows, M. (2020) ‘Postgraduate lecture’ [Online artist’s talk] MF7004 Aspects of Contemporary Arts Practice Bath Spa University. 2 November
Diebenkorn, R. (2015) Richard Diebenkorn Royal Academy of Arts, London, 14 March – 7 June [Exhibition catalogue]
Edwards, M. (1994) Raymond Mason London: Thames and Hudson
MoMA (2017) Maureen Gallace: Clear Day Available at: https://www.moma.org/calendar/exhibitions/3828 (Accessed: 23 November 2020)
Volk, G. (2017) Maureen Gallace’s Uneasy Sublime Available at: https://hyperallergic.com/376173/maureen-gallace-clear-day-moma-ps1-2017/ (Accessed 23 November 2020)
List of Illustrations
- Tim Heath (2018) River Walk (October): Grey Sky [Oil on canvas on board] 28 x 56 cm Private collection
- Richard Diebenkorn (1953) Berkeley #3 [Oil on canvas] 138 x 173 cm Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco
- Matthew Burrows (2017) La Petite Morte [Oil on board] 180 x 153 cm Vigo Gallery, London
- Sophie Calle (1988) Suite Vénitienne [55 photographs, gelatin silver print on paper, 23 text panels on paper and 3 colour maps on paper] 55 parts each: 177 × 239 × 25 mm, 23 parts each: 306 × 219 × 25 mm, 3 parts, each: 177 × 239 × 25 mm, overall display dimensions variable. Tate Gallery, London
- Maureen Gallace (2016) June 24th [Oil on panel] 23 x 31 cm Available at: https://www.maureenpaley.com/artists/maureen-gallace?image=1 (Accessed: 2 December 2020)
- Tim Heath (2020) Bright Morning Walk [Oil on canvas on board] Six panels, each 21 x 38 cm. In artist's possession
- Raymond Mason (1974) The Approaching Storm [Epoxy resin and acrylic paint] 94 x 123 x 10 cm. Edition of 6