Showing posts with label oil paintings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oil paintings. Show all posts

24/02/2017

Lucian Freud: Levitating Above the Waste Ground of Contemporary Art

''What do I ask of a painting? I ask it to astonish, disturb, seduce, convince.''
Lucian Freud.

On a freezing Saturday 11TH February, as it poured rain, my brother and sister brought us out in their car to IMMA to see the Freud Project 2016-2021, an exhibition of thirty oil paintings, nineteen etchings and one early drawing by the English master who had died in 2011. The Project had opened in October, but since I wasn’t getting up until 2pm every day, it gave me little time to go all the way over to IMMA and I felt too depressed and worn out to bother. So I was very thankful that my brother and sister had brought us over.                                             

In the mid 1950’s Freud was dubbed the “Ingres of Existentialism” by the excellent English art historian and writer Herbert Read. Later in 1993, he was hailed by the superb critic Robert Hughes as “the best realist painter alive”. Yet others who should have supported Freud (because he was trying to preserve realist painting) like Brian Sewell could only see Freud as a giant amongst the pigmies of contemporary painting and embarrassingly bad compared to the Old Masters. In 2008, Freud’s oil painting The Benefits Supervisor from 1995 of the voluptuous Sue Tilley sold for $33.6 million, the highest price for a work by a living artist at the time. Yet in the sixties and seventies he had been largely ignored by an art establishment enthralled by Pop, Minimalism and Conceptualism. Having had such a long life, Freud also had a number of different stylistic periods - though each grew naturally and slowly out of the others and as his skills increased so did the ambitiousness of his paintings. With his hawkish good looks and wild sexuality, Freud was only married twice but he had around 500 other female lovers - many of them from the British upper classes. He also had over fourteen children (that we know of) with different women. He loathed the bourgeoisie (even though his own background was completely bourgeois), but mixed freely with both aristocrats, low lives and criminals. Later in life he had over three different studios and told only his models and lovers which one he was in. Few knew his phone number and the press had to try and make contact with him through his agent or solicitor. He hated filling out forms and never voted because he was so paranoid about being traceable. Yet although Freud disliked the media world, he was a skilled operator amongst rich patrons and collectors and older and conservative curators and critics. We would never have heard of him at all if he hadn’t been! He was friends with fellow painters like Francis Bacon, Frank Auerbach and Leon Kossoff who became known as The School of London. In the 1950’s he was a frequent visitor to Ireland and had many Irish friends and models, it is said that he liked the wildness of Dublin life.
             

Freud had been one of my heroes since the early 1990s.  Still, I had mixed feelings about the Freud Project 2016-2021 at IMMA which was being housed in a specially adapted building outside the main museum courtyard. I found it highly ironic that a painter who had been marginalised since the 1960’s by curators more interested in Pop art and Conceptualism was being used to help the flagging fortunes of IMMA whose Post-Art, progressive, pointless academic Conceptualism was not making Dublin people trek out in their masses to Kilmainham. Incredibly in 1989, Freud was shortlisted for the Turner Prize – but the prize went to the completely talentless Richard Long with his pathetic and pretentious, Neo-Stone-Age collections of sticks and stones and walking interventions in the landscape! Just another incident - to add to my endless list of how contemporary art - is a laughable and ultimately tragic joke.                                                                                            

To the kind of faddish hipsters who like to strike the pose of artist, and try to compensate for their complete lack of talent, by a liberal use of art jabberwocky and clickbait ideas – an exhibition like the Freud Project - must have been like a slap in the face of their pretentious posing. But to any student of art history over the long-term and interested in the skills and craft of painting it was a Godsend and I was delighted to see young female students drawing from the paintings and etchings. To come up with some faddish novelty - has never impressed me - even if it is the kind of thing philistines love - because it is as dumb and direct as an infomercial on TV. No, to me the greatest achievement in art, is to take what history and tradition has given you and reinventing it! That is what Freud did brilliantly with the ancient genres of the portrait, nude and nature study. For me at least, it was the most inspiring exhibition I had seen in Dublin since the last Freud exhibition in IMMA in 2007. Unlike Francis Bacon - whose art was utterly inimitable - because you ended up looking like a stupid, adolescent, student preforming an act of ventriloquism - Freud offered real inspiration one could use (in part) in your own work. It was like the way Pollock was a greater artist than de Kooning, but if you copied Pollock you only ended up looking like a fraud - whereas there were parts of de Kooning’s art you could develop with less risk of being called out on it - so de Kooning had far more acolytes.                                                                                                                                   
                

Freud’s life and work was a total rebuke to all the progressive crap foisted upon us since the 1960s. However, his work was also - a total rebuke to the swarms of professional, charmingly mediocre, figurative painters like Tai Shan Schierenberg and Jonathan Yeo - who each year created an avalanche of dumb, kitsch, slap-dash work. What all their work lacked was the years of sheer graft of Freud and his incredible integrity and intensity of vision. Intensity is something you cannot fake and only the greatest painters have it. It requires more than mere talent, personality or posturing – it requires constant hard work over decades and if you are lucky you will have a few key moments of extreme vision - brought on by events in your life or through a specially blessed creative period or obsession with a particular subject. Freud’s most intense works included some of his self-portraits, his paintings of his mother, lovers, daughters naked, some of his male and female nudes, his naked portraits of Leigh Bowery and Sue Tilley, a painting of waste ground and houses seen from his studio window and a couple of his paintings of plants and foliage. Sadly, only some of these works were included in this exhibition.  
               

One of the reason I had stopped going to exhibitions in Dublin, was I was sick to death of going to see facile, eager to please, politically-correct exhibitions (especially of artists even younger than me) in galleries and museums - that had rejected my work repeatedly with brusque distain and contempt - while they fawned over charming mediocrity. By my middle forties, it had finally dawned on me that I had been destroyed not by conservatives or religious zealots but by effete aesthetic idealists, feminist viragos and so called liberals who refused to give my art a platform or the oxygen of publicity.                                                                                                                                                              

More broadly, I had become sick to death of the art world which had turned rebellious liberalism into a new form of censorious moralism, politically-correct re-education and virtue signalling – as dogmatic as the old right-wing orthodoxy - the avant-garde had rebelled against. So since most of my heroes like Lucian Freud, were anti-heroes and even rather unpleasant people by most people’s standards, I preferred the language of failure to the assertions of positive-thinking, my work denied the possibility of changing the human condition, I saw many virtues in tradition, I was honest about my own and male desire, and refused to conform to the limited world view of people of this particular era – so I was doomed to speak a visual language no one understood - never mind liked. I also realised that success in the art world today - had nothing to do with talent, hard work, dedication, sacrifice or originality – it had to do with what would sell and what would confirm the fads, prejudices, socio-politics and morals of art world insiders. To succeed in the art world - you had to slowly work your way up the greasy pole - but they had dragged me off before I could barely begin – and now I realised I didn’t even want any part in such a phoney world. Moreover, art itself, which I had foolishly thought could embrace even the darkest aspects of human existence - and make them comprehensible and even beautiful - was mostly just escapist nonsense or obscure, progressive, academic pretension. However, I did not mind Freud, or anyone else of his quality, having a museum to himself - or blocking my path. After you Mr Freud!                                             
            

The Freud Projects version of Freud, was U rated with few of the contentious female nudes and none of the male nudes that had such an impact on me as a youth. Instead, it concentrated on his portraits, though since my interest in Freud wasn’t prurient (and found his nudes totally asexual) and I was more interested in his craft - it did not bother me. I found the Freud exhibition a curate’s egg of an exhibition, of the highest order in parts, impressive in others but dreadfully botched and overworked in others. Freud had been a constant source of inspiration to me since 1990, and he was one of the few artists I went back to time and time again. I adored Freud’s selfish devotion to his art, his refusal to bow to anyone, his solitary nature, his reclusiveness and unwillingness to participate in the modern worlds media circus - but he was also a sociable man - who simply insisted on secrecy from his friends and models.  I am sure that a regular surreptitious museum goer like Freud knew, that in the end the paintings would have to live and die by their power on the wall - rather than any theatrics on television or in newspaper gossip columns.  It was as wisdom sadly lacking in the likes of the yBa’s.                                  
              

I found it interesting the way Freud developed. He was no child prodigy but he made a virtue of his artistic naivety and forceful vision in his early paintings. As a youth, I think it was his personality and potential that impressed art world insiders - more than his actual work. Though the fact that he was a wild, attractive boy - helped amongst the gay mafia of the London art world. His early paintings were coagulated, exaggerated and caricatured paintings of people often in strange landscapes. This morphed into a more Surrealist inspired laconic style and then a more finely painted and highly finished style that owed something to both Surrealism and German Neue Sachlichkeit (New Objectivity) painting - though Freud never gave German art any credit in interviews - which was not surprising given the destruction and slaughter the Germans had inflicted upon Europe and their industrial annihilation of the Jews. Speaking later of his brief surreal period, Freud declared that: “I think Lautréamont’s umbrella and sewing machine on an operating table was an unnecessarily elaborate encounter. What could be more surreal than a nose between two eyes!” After befriending Francis Bacon with whom he shared a love of Soho nightlife and gambling, Freud changed his style again, developing a broader more expressive painting and famously switching from fine sable brushes to rougher hogs hair brushes, and in 1975 took to using Cremnitz white a very heavy, lead white paint – that suited impasto and whose granular quality he thought brought flesh to life. Although his work lost the superfine detail and polish of his previous work, he still retained an acute eye for detail in his work so that almost the best thing about a painting like Two Irishmen in W11, from 1984-85, was the window in the background through which we could see an incredibly detailed - yet painterly - transcription of the street outside Freud’s studio. Bacon also influenced Freud to distort the shapes and planes of his sitters faces in new and unexpected ways which he then translated into his figures too.                    
            

For me the greatest period of Freud’s work was from the early 1960s until the late 1990s. It is in these paintings that Freud’s full arsenal of skills - which he had been developing slowly for decades - came into play in increasingly meaty works of oil paint. From the 1980s onward his work became more and more expressionist in colour and handling at least when seen close up. Freud understood what Eugène Delacroix had noted and written about in his journals many times, namely, that seen from a distance in a gallery - even the largest paintings can take on a grey appearance. Which is why painters like Tintoretto, Rubens and Delacroix had developed a more open brushwork and vivid use of colour than earlier painters - so that when seen from a distance their canvases still had impact.                                                                                      
             

From the 1990s Freud’s figure paintings became more theatrical and complex featuring multiple figures, sometimes it worked - but sadly in others it could look ludicrous. When Freud attempted to construct a narrative or use symbolism it usually looked absurd and unbelievable, perhaps the only exception being his multiple portraits of extended family in Large Interior (After Watteau) from 1981-83. By the noughties paintings of a naked pregnant Kate Moss, naked pregnant Jerry Hall and the Queen were so mediocre you could have found better paintings by a third year student in any local art college. But by now, Freud was so rich, famous and revered - that anything he painted was thought a work of genius. Sadly, most of Freud’s last work in the noughties apart from a few notable exceptions, did not end on a high like late Titian, Rembrant or Goya. Freud’s work became wonky, hesitant, fumbling and overworked - until some of the canvases looked like they had broken out in into field of coloured pimples. These late pimply paintings that unintentionally verged on the pointillist - reminded me of the painting of the beautiful Gillette that Frenhofer showed to Poussin and Porbus in Honoré de Balzac’s story Le Chef-d’œuvre inconnu and which was just a mess of colours save for a foot. It was clear to me that by the end, Freud’s vision, touch, stamina and decision making was impaired.                                            
           

Throughout his career, it appeared that there was a battle of heart and soul going on within Freud’s paintings between his German background and adopted English homeland or between German proto-Expressionism and Neue Sachlichkeit realism and English Romanticism and Realism. Freud disliked talking about influences and those he mentioned like Hals, Rembrandt, Velázquez, Chardin, Watteau, Courbet, Constable and Degas were perhaps less important that those he did not mention like beastly Germans like Dürer. And it can be no accident that his work looks so similar to German painters that were famous when he lived in Berlin as a little boy - like Lovis Corinth and Christian Schad. As the Jesuits say, "Give me a child for his first seven years and I'll give you the man". And Freud only left Berlin at the age of eleven. Freud despised the English painter Stanley Spencer - but Spencer’s naked portrait of himself and his wife Preece in Double Nude Portrait: The Artist and His Second Wife from 1937 - foreshadowed Freud’s mature nudes.                                                  
           

When conservative critics like Andrew Graham-Dixon and Brian Sewell found fundamental faults in Freud’s drawing and painting of the figure and their surroundings and found him wanting compared with the Old Masters - I think they were being totally unfair. As a realist painter, Freud was almost totally self-taught. In fact, his early training by the likes of Cedric Morris who encouraged his students to exaggerate reality and distort features was actually counter-productive to a solid realist foundation. Lucian Freud fully illustrated - the plight of so many realist painters at the end of the twentieth century in the West - who wanted to compete with the Old Masters in figurative art - but have never had the rigorous, ten years of old academic training necessary to achieve it because such training had been dismantled by a Modernist wreaking-ball in the name of novelty, personal expression and democratic incompetence. So, self-taught as a realist painter, Freud acquired bad habits of drawing and painting - that he struggled for years to transcend - and some of them he never did.                                     
             

Besides the age of Freud, after photography, cinema, mass media, the death of God, the holocaust, Existentialism and the constant pollution of war, atrocity, crime and exhibitionistic drama that bombarded people daily through the media – had destroyed peoples ancient sense of time and purpose, idealism and faith in humanity. In his studio, Freud fought an existential battle to maintain some of the old meanings - against the circus of much of Modern art, the bankruptcy of painting, the rise of impersonal mass media and our increasingly atomised lives. Most perversely of all, for such a solitary rebel – Freud fought to maintain intimate contact with his subjects in an age when most figurative painters like Warhol, Richter or Tuymans were painting from second images of people, events and things they had never personally known or experienced. As a rebel and contrarian, Freud revelled in painting in a way that had been deemed outdated, bankrupt and reactionary by Modernism and the anti-painting school of Duchamp. Freud also clearly became addicted to the challenges of figurative painting - finding constant inspiration in a reality others could no longer see never mind understand. So dramatic was Freud’s reinvention of figurative painting - that he almost singlehandedly - made us recall the sheer magic and intoxication of painting - that tries to conjure up the world around us in coloured pigments and oil on cloth.
              

Some may have found Freud’s treatment of his sitters unflattering, embarrassing and anxiety inducing but they missed the point. To render people in some air-brushed photographic manner was pointless when the camera could do it better. Freud brought something unique to the portrait through endless attention, the accumulation of time and the intensity of his scrutiny. There were many reasons why Freud was such a dispassionate observer of the world, his poor early relationship with his domineering mother who he tried to escape, the influence of his Grandfather Sigmund which may have taught him not to reveal that much about himself - and the power of being the one asking the questions, his early childhood in a Germanic culture and the stoicism that was necessary during the horrors of the Second World War.                   


Some people seem to think it is very important who the sitters were in Freud’s paintings. I think it is almost irrelevant. So what if they were of himself, or his lovers, or they there was his daughters clothed and nude, a boxer, a doctor, an art critic, a drag performer and so on. So what if they were straight or gay, male or female. I think that was Freud’s attitude too. He was interested in painting flesh not identity. His work was a compendium of the human animal at the end of the twentieth century - no more important than his whippets that often lay near his models or his paintings of horses, bats, rats, foliage, flowers, sinks or buildings, or a rubbish tip outside his studio. Going around the exhibition looking for human interest stories is completely beyond the point and confuses art with sentimental gossip. So I completely understood Freud’s preference for titles like Head of a Man or Naked Portrait. Thus in many ways Freud’s paintings were a refutation of his grandfather who wanted his clients to unburden all the drama of their life on to him. Lucian on the other hand - seemed to believe that the face and the body told their own story in much the way physiognomists used to just before Lucian’s birth. Of course it was also a perfectly natural approach for a painter - though seemingly impossible for those who do not live through their eyes - to understand.                                                                        

I have read a lot of rubbish about Freud and listened to a lot of blather and bitching from effete, middle-class, television commentators who wouldn’t even know how to mix a skin tone on a pallet. Typically, since they know virtually nothing about art - except what they like and don’t like - they take it as their role to pontificate on character, psychology, morality and socio-politics. They should get off the bog! Socialists with their politics of envy - loathed Freud’s conservativism, his interactions with the aristocracy and his elitist talent for painting - the ultimate capitalist commodity. But just look back to history to see the miserable crap we would have to live with under socialists! Feminists like Linda Nochlin and Germaine Greer perversely took a real dislike to Freud which I have always found illuminating. Feminists from the 1970s onward had carped about the objectification of women, the unrealistic images - women had to aspire to in magazines and on television, and men’s cruel sexualisation of women. But then Freud came along and painted women like pagan idols of flesh and made even ordinary or overweight women look strangely fantastic - but not in the obvious ways of fashion photography or soft-core porn. Yet Feminists carped about Freud’s unflattering, unpleasant and meaty representations of women! Make up your fucking mind Feminists! Then perversely, years later Jenny Saville came along and female critics wet themselves praising the brilliance of Saville’s early paintings which were a weak, overblown pastiche of Freud - done with house-painters brushes – and with some feminist, fat pride, aggro thrown in! And you wonder why I am sick to death of the art world!                                                                                                                                                                            

Which reminded me of the way, I too, had been demonised by art world insiders and Feminists for producing pornographic images, yet when years later, cynical imposters like Marlena Dumas, Cecile Brown, Tracey Emin, Chantal Joffe and Rita Ackermann amongst many others produced ventriloquist porn paintings without desire (sometimes from the very images I had used years before), they were snapped up by the very galleries that had dismissed me as an insane pervert. They then, went on to exhibit in museums that had been just as contemptuous towards me. Then I had to read critics praise these female artists as so original, courageous, sexy and brilliant! True their versions of porn were pathetic, scrambled, feminised, prettified and impersonal - compared to my more anguished, honest and hardcore versions! So maybe you can understand why - I had gone way past being defiant or bitter towards the art world - to being completely revolted by it!
                                                                                      

Feminists aside, it has always struck me how perversely and contradictory people talk about the body especially when most of our bodies are so inadequate for Olympus. Women in particular seem to be the worst body fascists when it comes to looking at other women in particular - which they have a ruthless skill in denigrating - and do it so often it is hardly even noticed. Though it is a sign of the decadence of our culture that today, that there are also plenty of vain gym himbos who also judge people by their bodies and think their useless fake-tanned muscles - which they have devoted all their spare time developing, have any meaning in a war free, technological, post-modern world - yet there are plenty of reactionary bimbos who go weak at the knees for them.  
            

But in general, there really seems to be some serious body blindness and delusional thinking in even normal people - to think that they look nothing like a Freud nude male or female under electric light - but probably look more like a glamorously lit, movie star in the nip in front of a camera with a soft-focus filter! It was that kind of egotistical and fanciful thinking that Freud’s work ruthlessly exposed and which any visit to a hospital and brief look at the random, tragic bodies of the people there under strip lights confirms. Freud’s naked portraits are not only nude - but also stripped of their false social selves and left stranded in the existential no-mans-land of his studio. Freud’s nudes may not be the ultimate truth of the body in painting – since every great painter reinvents it -  but they are certainly one the most original versions of the body in art.                                                                                                                                                                                

People liked to say that Freud’s work had little emotional warmth or humanity – in other words it was not a cliché, progressive, sentimental, kitsch, or glossy idealisation of the world. Well, that is why I adored his work! Freud’s work dealt in far more complex, ambiguous and subtle emotions than mere admiration, desire, fantasy, lust, love or hate.                                                                                                                                                                    

It is true that Freud’s relationships with people could be selfish, demanding, manipulative, combative, cold and even sinister but his love of animals was serious and deeply respectful - but again not in the kind of kitsch, cute ways people love seeing in their Facebook timeline. Freud gave animals a gravity and dignity far above most of that kind of manipulative stuff.                                                                                                                                                     

What was rare in Freud’s work was bravura shorthand or flourishes with the paintbrush like virtuosos like Velázquez, Hals, Sargent or de Kooning. That kind of extrovert theatrics - did not suit his guarded and meticulous temperament. Instead, every inch of his canvases were worked and reworked until they had a titanic heft. And in Freud’s work there was none of the stupid, slavish, karaoke copying of photographs that has become such a plague in painting since the 60s. No, every inch of Freud’s paintings - no matter how realistic - always retained the weight of painting, personal touch and conviction.                              


For people who have never drawn or painted from life, the subject of the life-room is a cause for puerile comedy and smutty jokes. As both a painter of hardcore porn and painter from nude models now and then - I can attest, that I have never painted with a hard-on or rarely even aroused – there is too much work to be done and it is so difficult and all consuming. Moreover, the elation one feels when a painting is going well - is better than sex. Likewise, Freud thought you could not do two different things at the same time. For Freud, nakedness was not a subject to be ashamed of – never mind sexual - which is why neither he nor his daughters had any problem with him painting them naked.                                                              
            

For many of us, our first encounter with skin tone was through a Crayola crayon and I am still shocked that today, reputable artist quality, paint brands, produce skin tone paint! Skin tone in these various forms are just a warm peach. They are utterly ludicrous, because even if you tone them down with blue paint - you still end up with a blow-up doll of a figure. That’s fine if you are a Pop artist making an ironic comment on commercial, vacuous, fantasy culture - but laughable for a serious artist. Freud graphically showed - just how many colours one could see in flesh - if you looked hard enough! Freud’s flesh colours up-close, included muted, dirty or strident; yellows, oranges, reds, crimsons, greens, olives, purples, lilacs and blues as well as ochres, browns and greys. Freud’s paintings told the story of flesh in all its peculiarities of wrinkles, fat, bone, hairs, veins, pimples, freckles, moles, scars, stretch-marks, sunburn and dirt – but in a subtle and fantastically beautiful way - unlike a dreadfully kitsch, horror painter like Ivan Albright.   
              

To many who had never painted in their life, and knew nothing about painting, Freud’s paintings were monochromatic or just a series of ochres, greys, browns and dirty greens. They obviously had never looked closely at his work in the flesh, or just passed them in a drunk, gossipy miasma at an opening, or just couldn’t see or worse still had become so brainwashed by the kind of avant-garde colour clichés promulgated from Fauvism to Pop - that if your painting wasn’t a billboard of just two or three primary or contrasting colours - then you had no sense of colour!
             

Personally, I adored the way Freud really went for it in his paintings, putting colours you would never expect to work in the flesh tones, clothes and backgrounds. And his rendering of whites, was masterful because the painting of anything white like walls, sheets or cloth was one of the greatest tests of a painter’s ability. Freud’s whites had a kaleidoscope of very pale yellows, blues, red, greens, purples and greys inflected in them and only the highlights were pure white. There was never anything slack or lazy in Freud’s greatest canvases. Every feature, form of clothing, chair or wall had its own weight and texture. He could even make even a man’s suit - take on epic in import. Largely self-taught as a figurative painter, Freud developed his own idiosyncratic way for hatching and knitting the paint through his brushstrokes. Freud usually started his paintings by sketching in the figures in charcoal and then concentrated on the face and worked outwards - and some of his late unfinished canvases confirmed this. They also showed that in his late paintings he started off from the start - putting down unnaturalistic colours and perhaps only toned them down later.                                                                           
              
Unlike many painters today, Freud did not paint big canvases just for the sake of it and some of his best work was no bigger than an iPad or even an iPhone. There were some tiny canvases in the exhibition that were miniature masterpieces - yet still very painterly and impastoed. I had not been a fan of Freud’s etchings before but this selection of etchings completely won me over to their brilliance. Even in his etchings, Freud was obsessive and incredibly hardworking.                                         
              

After the exhibition, my brother went to bring us to dinner in The Independent Pizza Company but they were all booked up because of a GAA match in Croke Park. So eventually after trying a few other restaurants which were also fully booked up - we went to McDonalds - which I loved. Carol observed that I was always happy in McDonalds with my Big Mac meal! I may have been a snob about art but not about food!

14/03/2014

Northern Stars and Southern Lights: The Golden Age of Finnish Art 1870-1920



On Sunday 10th January 2009, I went with Carol to Northern Stars and Southern Lights: The Golden Age of Finnish Art 1870-1920. After the fitful genius of Paintings from Poland in November 2007, I had high hopes that this exposé of Finnish art would be as enthralling. I cannot say that it was, but then I was not in a good mood when I saw the show. I found the exhibition of Finnish Art a grim experience. Dublin was cold and snow was expected. I was feeling old and fearful for my mother’s health and for my future – so seeing parts of this exhibition was like being taken into a melancholy ward to die. I found many of these paintings gripped with a nihilistic hopelessness that I could easily identify with. However, for once I longed for more beautiful escapist art.    
                                                                                                  
The show was dominated by pictures of pretty children, sorrowful children, pretty women, working women, social deprivation, middle-class bliss, winter landscapes and strange Nordic myths. Overall I found the technical standard of drawing and painting quite high. It was Salon art with workman like draughtsmanship, unusual compositions and odd pallets dominated by whites, greys, greens, pinks and blues– often in an attempt to outdo photography with minute details, intense lighting, obscure narratives and symbolically laden subjects.                                                                                                         

The exhibition was divided up thematically into six sections; Naturalism in Finnish Art, Influence from France, Epic Landscapes, Legends and Myths, The 1900 World Fair and Early Modernism. In the first section there were some sorrowful paintings of children by Akseli Gallen-Kallela, but nothing compared to the apocalyptic looking painting Under The Yoke (Burning the Brushwood), 1893, by Eero Jarnefelt. It was an odd painting, combining the usually idealistic and flattering techniques of academic art - with agi-prop social record. The soot covered face of the little girl in the centre of the painting, her clothes in rags, standing in front of burning fires of wood, smoke billowing up around her - as she stared out bleakly at the viewer - haunted my nightmares for months to come. As social propaganda against; child labour, the exploitation of the poor and the ecological destruction of the land - it was compelling. Its grating Naturalism was unforgettable - however as art I did not think it worked. It lacked the universal vision of a true masterpiece.                                                                                                                                 

Albert Edelfet was represented by Conveying the Child’s Coffin, 1879, a large luminous painting of a group of people on a boat - bring a coffin across a lake. In was typical of much of the socially conscious academic art of the 1870s which was inspired by the socialist examples of French masters like Courbet and Millet. Edelfelt superbly deployed academic drawing, composition and tonal-shading – enlivened by a lighter more Impressionist inspired pallet - to record a grim moment in Finnish life. Edelfelt had captured the intense low light of the North excellently and the painting seemed to radiate. However, it had a staged, posed and wooden feeling that made it unconvincing as great art.

Fanny Churberg was represented by some wonderfully fresh alla-prima paintings of skies painted with vigorous and intense flat brush strokes. In fact they were some of the few - free and sensual paintings in the show. On the other hand Pekka Halonen in The Short Cut, 1892 and later in The 1900 World Fair section with Washing on the Ice, 1900, managed to paint some of the bleakest, most depressing and frigid pictures I had ever seen.           
                                                                                        
Later in the Influence from France section, Albert Edelfelt was this time represented by much more atmospheric, sensual and romantic paintings of pretty young women; reading books under trees, learning to play piano, or posed looking invitingly at the viewer. Other’s like Gunnar Berndtson and Akseli Gallen-Kallela also proved themselves adept at making attractive portraits of pretty middle class Finnish girls - and recording the easy going delights of family life. 

Some of the landscapes represented Finland as a barren, inhospitable, lonely wilderness. The extreme coldness of Finland depicted was unusually poignant to me - after weeks of temperatures as low as -3 degrees Centigrade in Dublin. So, I marvelled at these painters fortitude painting in an even colder climate – sometimes out of doors!                                                                                                   

The unsurpassed masterpiece of the landscape section (and maybe the whole show) was Akseli Gallen-Kallela’s Imatra in Winter, 1893. This huge canvas of an icy river, bounded by banks of deep snow and trees densely frosted with snowflakes was epic in its intensity. Gallen-Kallela had managed to go beyond the merely picturesque and animated nature. His masterful and evocative use of a Mirada of whites haunted my imagination. However most of the rest of the landscape section was undistinguished - apart from its unusual Northern topography. 

The low point of the show for me was the Legends and Myths section, with its crude folk revival art that verged on the comically bad. It exposed the poverty of Gallen-Kallela and Hugo Simberg’s imaginations, the limitations of their technique and immaturity of their visions. Akseli Gallen-Kallela reappeared again with two of the most ridiculous looking paintings I had ever seen. Aino Myth, Triptych, 1889, which seemed like nothing more than an excuse to show lots of naked Finnish girls being chased by a long bearded old man. (Although I did enjoy seeing his use of the ancient Nordic Swastika all around the frame of the picture - long before in the hands of Hitler it became a symbol of race-hate, vengeance and death.) While The Forging of the Sampo, 1893, looked like nothing but a children’s book illustration rendered with all the skill and lack of imagination of an academic oil painter. I hadn’t a clue what any of these old myths meant and I didn’t care – I hated myths.  

At least Akseli Gallen-Kallela had technical skill, Hugo Simberg on the other hand was as crude as an adolescent. His work was too illustrational and rudimentary – he simply did not have the visionary power of James Ensor working in Ostend or Edvard Munch in Oslo at the same time. 

The final modernist section, like with that of ‘Paintings from Poland’ in 2007, displayed a noticeable decline in originality and authenticity as Finnish artists pastiched (with some skill and panache) the latest trends of Post-Impressionism, Fauvism and Cubism in Paris. They were always four or five years too late, and never contributed anything new to these movements.  

Seeing most of this art only served to prove to me how necessary modernist’s like Cézanne, van Gogh, Munch, Matisse and Picasso had been - to render truly visionary and technically powerful art in an age of polite and commercial art. Their oeuvres had taken the same questions of; social life, form, subjectivity, primitivism, myth and sexuality – which these Finnish and a host of other minor European artists had been battling with - and given convincing, hard won and transcendent answers.                        

Overall, I found this show educational and enjoyable. Given my depressed mood, I felt I had not given the exhibition a fair enough look. So I instantly vowed to go back again when my spirits were better. However, unforeseen events would make that impossible.

Sold! Irish Art of The Celtic Tiger



Before Christmas 2008, I bought myself ‘Sold!: the inside story of how Ireland got bitten by the art bug.’ It was a superbly written study of the great Celtic Tiger art boom of 1996-2008. However, its subject – the rampant greed, vanity and stupidity of the art stars and mega collectors – made me feel sick. During that period I had sold over €43,000 worth of art - but only a third of that was left after dealers fees, framing and art materials. I simply spent the money I earned on more paint and canvas and stayed in my home. The height of the boom 2003-2008 was the period in which I had totally detached from Ireland, stayed in my house, rarely went out, had only a handful of friends and was totally forgotten by the Irish art world. So to see how insane the Irish art world had become finally put in print was shocking in the extreme for me. I felt like a total loser.                                                                              
  
The first wave the Irish art boom happened in 1996 when the prices at auction of Irish art shot up 26%. Dead Irish artists like Paul Henry, Gerard Dillon, Leech, Lavery and Orpen saw the prices fetched for their canvas double or quadruple. The boom in the prices of these painters was in part due to a streak of Patriotism in Irish buyers who wanted to support the prestige of Irish visual artists. However, buyers were still wary of living artists. The strength of Irish collectors in London, boosted English interest in Irish visual art. Meanwhile small private galleries began to open up with dizzying regularity, our major museums built extensions, older museums were renovated, new museums were founded and an art lover in Ireland suddenly had more to see and of better quality. Our museums had greater funding to stage tour exhibitions from abroad – something art lovers in Dublin were starved of in the 1980s. The drop of the Down after 9-11 and then the Dot-Com crash momentarily slowed the frenetic pace of the Irish art market but the from 2004-2008 it went into overdrive. The big sellers of art in the Celtic Tiger were Louis le Brocquy, Kenneth Webb, Basil Blackshaw, Kingerlee, William Crozier, Shinnors, Teskey, Mark O’Neill, John Doherty, Robert Ballagh, Kevin Sharkey, Guggi and Rasher.                                                                                         

Kevin Sharkey was a likeable buffoon who believed his own hype, faked it untill he made it, made it, then blew it through hubris. He was propelled along by sheer egotism making dreadful parodies of Jackson Pollock. “His output was colossal; hundreds upon hundreds produced in 17-hour working days, and Sharkey boasted to a British newspaper that he’d made £2.5m in four years. The art establishment sneered, but what did he care? When galleries wouldn’t accept him, he opened his own: in Dublin’s Francis Street, in London’s Mayfair, in Ibiza, Donegal and Mayo. He says he sold 450 paintings in 2007 alone. Many of these were at art fairs where, jealous rivals noted, Sharkey would leave buyers weakened with his charm, cajoling them in his lilting Donegal accent... Bob Geldof had one of his works, as did Kate Moss, Pete Doherty, Sinead O’Connor, Liam Neeson, Charles Saatchi.” John Burns, Sold!: the inside story of how Ireland got bitten by the art bug, 2008, P.211-212.                                 

Irish artists like this were given lots of easy life-style interviews, in which they regaled the viewers with funny anecdotes, funny stories of hard times and pretended to be men of the people. It was the era of the housing bubble, which saw the building of hundreds of thousands of houses in Ireland and an unknown hundreds of holiday homes abroad – all with wall space to fill. The book highlighted a selection of the most commercially successful living and dead artists, some I knew well others I had only vaguely known. None of them impressed me as painters of genius, in fact, most of them struck me as the worst kind of bimbo painting – all crass surface and no soul. Moreover key painters like Brian Maguire, Patrick Graham, Ciarán Lennon and Paul Doran who I considered impressive, intelligent, skilled and interesting artists were not mentioned.                                                

I knew of course of Robert Ballagh although I wished I didn’t. He was one of the most commercial artists we have ever produced. He was an illustrator who fancied himself as Van Eyke, a capitalist who flew the banner of socialism and a thinker in borrowed clothes.                                            

John Doherty was a far better painter from photographs and his choice was at least second year art student quality. But in an era of countless painters the world over painting from photographs nothing about his stood out as important.                                                                              

Donald Teskey painted drab, arty looking Irish landscapes of limited visual strength. It all looked like very unambitious Kiefer, or safe Hughie O’Donough.                                                                     

Percy French who though dead was highly collected, painted technically beautiful, limpid watercolours of Ireland, but was most famous for his music. As the holiday watercolours of the happy amateur they were up there with members of Royal families but as art they had nothing significant to say.       

                                                                                                              
John Kingerlee painted abstract blocks of impastoed oil paint, he was known to be eccentric, and had lead a colourful life – running away from the circus, working odd jobs, trying writing, pottery, living in squats and painting. His paintings had some small beauty – but it was undermined by over production, commercialism and hype.                                                                              

Martin Mooney painted technically accomplished classical oil paintings of the kind one saw a lot in traditional and reactionary galleries. Mark O’Neill specialized in syrupy soft-focus, oil paintings of dogs which sold for five figure sums at auction. I found his technique sickeningly cynical and manipulated – but knew why art lovers liked them so much – they pandered to the lowest common denominator – animals looking cute.                                                                                           

However, it was what the book revealed about the economic boom in Irish art galleries and the wealth achieved by a small minority of artists that was most shocking to me. “Some galleries did go to the wall during the boom, but far more opened than closed, and there were about 130 in the Republic at last count. A peek at their accounts in Companies House reveals a sheaf of healthy balance sheets. On The Wall Gallery LTD. Which owns the Kerlin, had €683, 207 cash in the bank when it filed annual returns in October 2007, with debtors owing €132, 335 and net assets of just under €0.5m. The Taylor Galleries’ directors – John and Patrick Taylor – paid themselves €203, 333 in 2004, €248, 012 in 2005 and €666, 666 in 2006. Dublin’s most prestigious gallery had €1, 811, 681 cash in hand in August 2006, up from €1.37m the previous year, although its debtors owed €986, 152.” (John Burns, Sold!: the inside story of how Ireland got bitten by the art bug, 2008, P.233.)                                  

The book also took aim at the controversial Artist Tax Exception Scheme which I myself had benefited from. “Due to the Freedom of Information Act, the Revenue Commissioners now publish the names of everyone who successfully applies for the artists’ exemption scheme. In the period from 1 April 2002 to 31 March 2008, some 1,146 “painters” got this exemption. Under the Revenue’s liberal definition this includes 81 “artistic photographers” and six cartoonists. There were 259 sculptors availing of the tax scheme, of which at least 30 were doing installation art pieces. So in total, 1, 400 or so visual artists joined the tax-free scheme in that six-year period.” (John Burns, Sold!: the inside story of how Ireland got bitten by the art bug, 2008, P.172.) Then Burns detailed the earnings of these artists: “Revenue has said that over half of those in the scheme had artistic income of less than €10, 000. This statistic has sometimes been used by art lobbyists to argue that most artists are living in penury. On the other hand, 59 artists who avail of the scheme declared income of over €200, 000, and grossed a total of €56m. Publication of that statistic caused considerable envy, and undoubtedly influence Brian Cowen’s decision, as minister for finance, to make artists pay tax on income over €250, 000 a year.” (John Burns, Sold!: the inside story of how Ireland got bitten by the art bug, 2008, P.172.) Personally, I had no strong feelings one way or another about the scheme. It meant a lot to me, because I made so little from art. I also approved of the original strategy to encourage Irish artists to stay in Ireland and to lure foreign artists into the country. However I did see its unfairness when it allowed a small minority to profit like U2 had.