Ten Leonardo da Vinci Drawings at The National Gallery of Ireland

On Thursday 9^th June 2016, Carol and I went into the National Gallery of Ireland to see ten drawings by Leonardo da Vinci from the British Royal Collection. Dublin was bathed in the golden light of dusk in late spring and the women on the streets seemed to glow with fecundity though none more so than a beautiful, slender, auburn haired, golden tanned, pregnant woman in a bright pale blue sun dress and with flip-flops - I saw passing outside the National Gallery.                                                                                                      
                        

I had not ventured out to see an exhibition in about four months and I was frankly sick to death of contemporary art and saw no point in frustrating and angering myself anymore with the trivial, commercial and eager to please crap of my peers and wondered why anyone still wanted to make or write about art. Art for me had ended in 1985 when Neo-Expressionism stopped being the major movement of the day and Neo-Geo took its place. I simply did not give a dam about the zillions of pastiches and rehashes of style done with such a waste of materials and human energy since 1985 and whose only merit was commercial, moralistic or as the embodiment of identity politics. I could not identify with an art world that had turned from an arena of truthful, personal, freedom of expression - regardless of the personal cost - into a gilded cage populated by extreme left-wing and Feminist moralisers who schizophrenically also hung around art galleries and private member’s clubs trying to sell their art to corporate billionaires. I was now just a highly informed philistine and carried on with my own art because it was the only thing that kept me sane. Moreover, as a middle-aged artist, I had long since stopped being influenced by other artists and had come to realise that no one could help me in the midst of my painting - than myself. In fact, I had to think hard to think of the last exhibition that had actually inspired or aided my own work. But I really would have a been a philistine - if I had passed up the opportunity to see drawings by da Vinci! And as it turned out, this was to be one of the most inspiring exhibitions I had seen in a long time.                                            

I had glanced at the drawings on the National Gallery website and was struck by how introverted and lacking in bravura flashiness they were but I hoped that in the flesh they would have more impact. Seeing them in the dimly lit gallery space was thus a revelation. Da Vinci’s drawing were on thin sheets of paper mostly no bigger than postcards and I had to peer to see all their details. What I saw in the flesh was a grandeur of vision on a small scale - I had never witnessed in any other artist. Only Dürer came close to da Vinci’s power as a draughtsman on a small scale. The paper da Vinci used was made of cotton rag, hot pressed and no more than 90lb in weight. The paper was so thin that one could see the marks from the verso of the sheets - which he frequently made use of on both sides. Those sheets that had drawings on both sides were exhibited in double sided glass frames which one could walk around. The exhibition started with a short and succinct video demonstrating the materials and techniques of da Vinci the draughtsman. As you know, I loathe video pieces of any kind in exhibitions, but as a technical geek, I found it highly informative and loved hearing about the materials da Vinci used.                                     
                           

You know one of the reasons, I got an E in my first ever essay on art in Art College at the age of eighteen, was because it was on Picasso’s Les Demoiselle d’Avignon and since I had never seen it in the flesh - I found it almost impossible to write about. I still haven’t seen Les Demoiselle d’Avignon and I still don’t feel fit to write about it. I was nineteen then and even now at forty-five - I find it as hard to write about art works I have never seen. Seeing da Vinci’s drawings in low resolution JPGs on the National Gallery website gave me little idea of the material quality of the drawings in the flesh. Even when I went home and looked at the drawings in high resolution photographs in various books on da Vinci at home - I found the experience strangely detached. But in the gallery, where I had to navigate other viewers, peer into the glass frames under dim light and strain to see all the fine details of da Vinci’s line - it was a full erotic experience.                                                                              
                                                      
The last time I had a chance to see da Vinci drawings was in 2007, in the Chester Betty Gallery, but I had come away from that very frustrated and disappointed. The Codex Leicester, actually contained no standalone drawings, and those on the margins of The Codex Leicester were restricted to water and engineering - a subject I had no interest in and even if I did, I did not speak Latin and did not have a mirror to reverse da Vinci’s famously reversed writing. So it was a relief to finally see drawings of real impact in this exhibition. The ten drawings captured some of da Vinci’s chief interests, a female portrait with da Vinci’s much copied enigmatic and benign smile, a study of blackberry bush, study of river water damage on an embankment, studies for horses, studies of cats and one drawing of from a series of ten about a deluge which reflected da Vinci’s pessimistic fascination with the end of the world. There was nothing narcissistically flashy or extravagant about these drawings. In fact, they seemed incredibly private and introverted works made for da Vinci’s own pleasure and understanding. They convinced slowly and devastatingly.                                                                                                                                  

The great criticism of da Vinci, was that he had so many ideas - but realised too few of his projects. That is of course true, which is why it is his drawings that are arguably his greatest achievement, because it is in them that we witness his encyclopaedic interest in the natural world and plans for his many inventions. Today, these are prized almost as conceptual statements worthy in their own right - irrespective of whether or not he actually ever carried them to fulfilment - and in fact a sketch by da Vinci is often more important and profound than whole frescoed rooms by his technically skilled and hardworking but dim witted peers. Not only was da Vinci an incomparable genius at the start of the Renaissance - he was a genius with an open arena to play in - and you can see the pleasure and intensity of experience he brought to all his studies. He was like Columbus discovering America - or more recently Steve Jobs at the start of the personal computer age – with limitless room for discovery and an unassailable right to call himself the first and best - before many. Moreover, da Vinci’s omnivorous intellect and knowledge meant that everything he drew no matter how humble - was freighted with such an intensity of scrutiny and understanding - that he could make even a few branches from a blackberry bush seem epic in import.                                                            

The last great artist to bring such fresh intensity to the sketchbook from life, was the teenage Pablo Picasso in Spain at the end of the nineteenth century. Moreover, even though I have always considered drawing from life a vital part of one’s training, I have always had my doubts about the practice of students today being told to go out into nature and the city - to draw life - because so much of our real lives today are experienced through mediated images - that drawing from nature and physical human life - is actually unnatural and a hopelessly nostalgic, escapist fantasy. Scurrying out on expeditions into the real world - to do drawings from life today - is about as cliché, retrograde and mendacious as the nature poems of ‘poets’ living in tower blocks surrounded by digital screens, listening to Beethoven on their iPhones. In this Post-Modern world, real life only happens - when there is a power cut – and we don’t enjoy it!                             

Unlike like so many artists since the invention of photography and the cult of Impressionism, da Vinci’s drawings, did not superficially record the fall of light on bodies or objects – instead they recorded both the inner and outer structure of forms - and tried to find the source of their life. His vision of the body and nature was thus not of the fleeting and subjective but rather of the timeless and ordered. Moreover, da Vinci’s drawings proved that not only was he a great draughtsman working from life - but even more importantly - he was a great draughtsman working from his memory and imagination. Take for example his sheet of drawings of cats which are all perfectly realised in all kinds of rest, motion and fight. I have drawn periodically my cats and know that even when asleep they rarely stay still! So to draw them from life when they are resting is difficult enough - but almost impossible when moving. So da Vinci’s drawings of cats were as much about his almost photographic memory and knowledge of their anatomy as mere observation. Likewise, in the final drawing of a deluge, we see da Vinci’s knowledge and imagination create an image beyond mere appearances that may have been incorrect in minor details but overall - was epic in it cataclysmic vision of nature.                                                                                                          

For me da Vinci is the greatest draughtsman in art history because of the vastness of his range and subject matter - with only Dürer coming close to him. He continues to be an influence on young artists and Jean Michel Basquait for example was obsessed with reworking, blowing up and roughing up da Vinci’s drawings - particularly those related to anatomy. Da Vinci’s humble drawings for me were like a blessed liberation from the tyranny of the Post-Modern Neo-Salon artists of today like Jeff Koons, Damien Hirst and countless other rich nobodies who try to cow their peers with vast projects executed by teams of hired underlings, skilful failed artists, technicians and factory workers. You could frankly pile up all the tonnes of ‘art’ produced by most of these Post-Modern, Neo-Salon Robber Barons and it would not mean a fraction of what a tiny, feather weight drawing by da Vinci means - not only to me - but to Art History. That is why da Vinci is so inspiring - he offers no excuses to the young artist. So you can’t afford to hire thirty lackey painters to paint vast oil on linen photo-realist confections or fifty foundry workers to take a toy you found in a Poundshop and turn it into a ten-ton bronze? So you can’t even afford a small canvas and oil paint? Surely you can afford a sheet of paper and a stick of black chalk? Let’s see what you can do with that! And if you do paint - just paint twelve small and medium sized - timeless masterpieces!

Order, Desire, Light

At the end of the third week of August 2008, Carol and I went to IMMA - where we saw three very interesting exhibitions. Order, Desire, Light was the first show we looked at. It consisted of about 250 contemporary drawings - by various world-renowned artists. It was early in the day and I was not in a critical frame of mind. I felt tired and stoned. So I found it enjoyable nonsense. There were strong works by Sigmar Polke, Chris Ofili, Albert Oehlen, Miquel Barceló, Mark Bradford, and Raymond Pettibon. However most of the other works were total rubbish. Many of the frames - made for these notes on paper – required greater labour and required more skill to make. I told Carol that I had burnt drawings better than most of these feckless doodles.                                                                            

In the midst of all this PO-MO child’s play - the Charcoal drawings of William Kentridge stood out a mile. His muscular drawing of ancient ruins was beautiful – if somewhat conventional and boring. However, his other drawing on torn and glued sheets from a book made Carol and I snort with disgust. We had both become sick of the sight of drawings on torn up book pages – it was a gimmick long past its sell by date.                                                                                        

Then we saw paintings, photographs and videos by the German/Brazilian artist Janaina Tschape. I thought her photographs and videos were generic art world junk. She posed in funny cellular and biomorphic outfits in the jungle and in the sea. I had seen its type done a hundred times already. However, she was saved in my estimation by some beautiful abstract oil paintings - which again played with vegetative, botanical and microscopic forms in a kind of twenty-first century parody of Gustav Klimt’s semi-abstract ornamentation.                                                                                

  

Finally, we saw a show of works inspired by Africa by the Spanish painter Miquel Barceló. The show included; ink drawings, watercolours, oil paintings, pottery and sculptures - all inspired by his numerous vacations and residencies in West Africa and Mali in particular since 1988. To be honest I had not seen anything like it in Dublin for decades. It all reeked of the 1980s and not in a very good way.                                                                                                                                 

I found it hard to write about such mediocrity. Barceló’s work was worthy, skilful, inventive and sincere – yet at the same time, it lacked true originality, feeling or vision. Although I delighted seeing expressive, well draw and sensually painted works – most of it had a second-hand quality to it. Barceló’ was a wriggly and spritely draughtsman – somewhat in the vein of Tiepolo and was an adventurous manipulator of paint. However I was continually reminded of better painters who had undoubtedly influenced him like; Jean Fautrier, Wols, Jean Dubuffet, Joseph Beuys, Jannis Kounellis, Julian Schnabel, Sandro Chia, Francisco Clemente and Enzo Cucchi. Overall, I had the impression of seeing yet another playboy painter with a facile talent and too much money for his own good.

Turner’s Watercolours and A Evie Hone Retrospective 2005

At the end of January 2005, I went to the National Gallery with my girlfriend to see the Turner watercolours, which were only shown once a year in January in order to preserve them from humidity. This pilgrimage had been a regular one for me for nearly twenty years and it was always a treat. In his watercolours Turner balanced loose gestural sweeps of watercolour with super fine details added with the smallest of paint brushes. Sometimes he was happy to leave a watercolour finished after only a few splashy swirls of blue, yellow and umber, while at others he would work the image up to the most detailed and realistic level, yet his images would always glow with light and the paint would hardly ever became fully opaque. In his lifetime Turner produced over 20,000 watercolours and 300 oil paintings - proof positive that his virtuosity was the product of both immense talent but also constant hard work. Looking at great work like Turners was never depressing the way worthy academic art was nearly always. I was fully aware that Turner possessed a gift for watercolour that far surpassed anything I could ever do, but I did not feel competitive or jealous or enviously critical - all I felt was joy and inspiration. Great art did not intimidate me it just inspired and gave joy. It was second-rate art that irritated me. Art that was full of official honours and pompous self-importance - but which was actually tedious - fully of labour and self-promotion but devoid of genius, originality or anything meaningful to say.                                                         

  

A good example of this in Ireland was Evie Hone, who was given a tiny room in the National Gallery. Frankly, she did not deserve even this. In Ireland, Hone was a well-known historical figure. Largely because she studied in France under Gleizes and produced fifth rate Cubist work in the 1920s. Gleizes was a jumped up pompous chancer who ripped off the achievements of Picasso and Braque, backdated his work in order to pretend that he had invented Cubism - and turned it into an academic mish-mash. The fact that Hone produced Cubist work was nothing special. It seems that every painter in Europe in the 1920s went through a cubist phase. Some like Mondrain, Miró and Klee managed to come out the other end stronger artists with their own voice, but most spent their lives as nothing but cheep plagiarists. Looking at Hones semi-realist work and stained glass work one was also left gapping open mouthed that someone who drew so badly could ever been taking seriously. Late in her life after years of artistic experience, she still drew with all the competence of a dim-witted high-school student. Therefore, it was a relief to leave her work and go into the Yeats room with Carol. Yeat's was a very hit and miss painter. His late gestural expressionist canvases of horses, street scenes and circus are often cluttered, unformed and sloppy in the extreme. But at their best they have a poetry and emotion all their own. Personally, my favourite Yeats works were from the 1920s when he produced some very moving street scenes that recorded a Dublin that was dead and gone. Yeats was never as technically competent as Orpen, but he made up for this with a greater emotional range.