Ólafur Elíasson: In Real Life

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Olafur Eliasson Your uncertain shadow (colour) 2010

Until 5th January 2020, Tate Modern invites you to become more aware of your senses in an exhibition that focuses on experience. Danish-Icelandic artist Ólafur Elíasson has spent the past thirty years creating a broad body of work, which includes sculpture, photography and installation. By using a variety of materials from metal and cardboard to water and moss, Eliasson explores how people view the world around them whilst also emphasising his concern about nature and climate change, and experimenting with geometric shapes.

Ólafur Elíasson was born in Copenhagen, Denmark in 1967 to Icelandic Parents Elías Hjörleifsson and Ingibjörg Olafsdorrir. After his parents split up when he was eight years old, Elíasson spent the majority of his time in Denmark with his mother and step-father and his summers with his father in Iceland. His experiences in Iceland, particularly the effects climate change are having on the landscape, have inspired many of his artworks.

Elíasson took part in his first public exhibition at the age of 15, where he displayed landscape drawings and paintings in a small gallery in Denmark. Between 1989 and 1995, he studied at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, during which time he was awarded the opportunity to travel to New York to work as a studio assistant for the artist Christian Eckhart. In 1993, he had his first solo exhibition in Cologne then, after receiving his degree, Elíasson moved to Berlin where he set up his studio.

In 1996, Elíasson teamed up with Einar Thorsteinn (1942-2015), an Icelandic artist with an interest in geometric shapes and structures. Together, using Thorsteinn’s knowledge of geometry and space and Elíasson’s artistic skill, they worked on several projects. Tate Modern displays around 450 models, prototypes and geometric studies in a giant glass case at the beginning of the exhibition. They have been made from a variety of materials, including copper wire, cardboard, paper, wood, foam and rubber. One model had even been constructed with Lego.

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Your Spiral View, 2002

Whilst all these models in the first room are only prototypes and ideas, there is a completed work later in the exhibition. Made from stainless steel mirrors, Your Spiral View (2002) is a short tunnel that visitors are welcome to walk through. The geometric shape of the construction obscures the reflection in the mirrors making it impossible to recognise yourself as you walk through the tunnel. Instead of seeing themselves, visitors are met with a kaleidoscope of colour and light.

Elíasson has collaborated with other people for many projects. As well as Thorsteinn, he has worked with architects Sebastian Behmann, Cedric Price (1934-2003), Kjetil Thorsen (b.1958), the novelist Svend Åge Madsen (b.1939) and the landscapist Gunther Vogt. Each person brings something unique to the project, whether it be practical ideas, imagination or an alternative opinion. In his studio, Studio Olafur Eliasson, Elíasson employs over thirty architects, engineers, craftsmen and artist assistants to research and work together on installations, sculptures and large scale commissions.

As well as producing art, Elíasson is a professor at the Berlin Univeristy of the Arts. He has won prizes, such as the Nykredit Architecture Prize (2004), Eckersberg Medal (2004), Prince Eugen Medal (2005), Joan Miró Prize (2007), a Quadriga award (2010) and the Mies van der Rohe Award (2013). Elíasson even had the honour of welcoming the President of Iceland Ólafur Ragnar Grímsson (b.1943) to his studio in 2014 as part of the President’s state visit to Germany.

Elíasson’s most recent achievement was being appointed a Goodwill Ambassador earlier this year by the United Nations Development Programme. He aims to advocate for action on climate change and sustainability and emphasises the need to stay positive about the future: “I also think it’s important not to lose sight of what is actually going quite well. There is reason for hope. I believe in hope as such and I’m generally a positive person. And when you think about it: it has never been better to be a young African girl, for instance.” Elíasson lives in Hellerup, Denmark, from which he commutes to his studio in Berlin, with his wife Marianne Krogh Jensen and their adopted children from Ethiopia.

The Model Room leads on to a selection of Elíasson’s early works produced during the 1990s. Visitors are greeted by an entire wall covered in Scandinavian reindeer lichen, a replica of Moss Wall, which Elíasson first created in 1994. Held together with wood and wire, the installation brings unexpected material from the wild outside to the controlled indoor space. Visitors are also drawn to Window Projection, which Elíasson made at art school. A bright light shines the silhouette of a window onto a white wall and not many people can resist making shadow puppets, thus adding to the artwork.

Elíasson uses light in simple ways, for instance, a single spotlight in a darkened room. Titled Wannabee, visitors complete the artwork by standing under the light and posing while their friends take photographs. In a corner, I grew up in solitude and silence consists of a single white candle on a round mirror. Without using any form of electricity, the candle uses the mirror to reflect its light further than a single flame could manage.

These early works reveal Elíasson’s interest in nature and weather, for instance, the perpetual “rain” running down the Regenfenster (Rain Window). Incorporated into an actual window of Tate Modern, visitors do what many people do on a rainy day – watch as the droplets travel from top to bottom. Many of the nature-based installations are based on the artist’s observations in Iceland. Wave machine, for example, replicates the gentle movements of Icelandic waters.

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Beauty, 1993

Beauty (1993) combines nature and illumination to produce a fine sheet of rain in the centre of a darkened room. Most people consider rain to be an inconvenience, however, Elíasson appreciates the beauty it can create.

“A rainbow is an alliance: solar gleam, errant cloud, waterdrops in motion, captivated human, changed world.”

The light shining on the falling water produces a rainbow effect. By studying nature and the rainbow phenomenon, Elíasson has artificially produced his own, which, as he said himself, captivates the human mind. Visitors stand around either staring in awe or taking photos in a hushed environment. Yet, if they think Beauty is amazing, they will soon be blown away when they find Din Blinde Passager (Your Blind Passenger) around the corner.

Imagine the thickest fog you have ever seen then multiply it by ten; there you have Din blinde passager. The installation is a 39-metre long room filled with artificial fog and it is only possible to see 1.5 metres ahead. Made from water-soluble fog fluid containing non-toxic polyols (a type of sweetener), Elíasson recreates a spooky natural phenomenon that warps the surrounding world – or even makes it disappear entirely.

Walking through Din Blinde passager is an adventure like none other. It relies on trust – trust in the artist, trust in those around you, and trust that nothing is hiding in the fog. Fluorescent lamps change the colour of the white fog along the way, heightening the experience. Whilst the fog turns everyone into a “blind passenger”, the changes in colour help visitors gradually make their way through the passage.

Installations such as this evoke the question “what is art?” Usually, art is something visible, regardless as to whether it appeals to the viewer. Elíasson’s interpretation of art, however, relies on experience just as much as sight, or more so in this case. He makes people aware of themselves, their bodies and the people around them. Without the fog, people would walk from one side of the room to the other without passing a single thought about what they were doing, yet, in the fog, people are far more aware.

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In real life 2019

From the gloom of the fog, visitors emerge into a room full of colourful reflections. Elíasson has been fascinated with kaleidoscopes since the mid-1990s, which coincided with his love of geometric shapes. He continues to explore these ideas in his recent work In Real Life, which lights up the room with multiple reflections of fractured colours. Made from aluminium, the large sphere is fitted with colour-effect filter glass and hangs from the ceiling. Inside, an LED light shines the green, yellow, orange, red, pink and cyan shades onto the walls, ceilings and anyone in the vicinity. Without the light, the sphere would hang alone, purposeless, however, with the light, it expends its energy, dissolving the boundaries between artwork, location and spectator.

Continuing along the kaleidoscope theme, Elíasson incorporates the outside world into his art in Your Planetary Window (2019), which distorts the view from the second floor of Tate Modern. Geometric mirrors reflect the London scene whilst breaking it into many fragments, almost as though someone has smashed the world into sharp fragments.

Elíasson endeavours to incorporate the outside world in many of his artworks. Being particularly concerned about the rate of climate change, he uses his creativity to make people aware of the state of the world. Intended as a call for action against the climate change emergency, Elíasson often uses glacial ice in his work. Some may recall seeing several blocks of ice outside Tate Britain in 2018. These were blocks that had been fished out of of the water surrounding Greenland and brought to London so that thousands of people could see the damage the warmer climate is causing the Arctic. Greenland loses between 200 to 300 tonnes of glacial ice every year and, like these ice blocks that gradually melted in London temperatures, they can never be reclaimed.

One of Elíasson’s recent artworks, The presence of absence pavilion (2019), illustrates the loss of the glaciers. A bronze cast shows the shape made by a block of ice that has now inevitably melted. This is the space created through the loss of one block of ice; imagine the size of the space if all the glaciers melted. This is something Elíasson has gradually documented over the past twenty years through a series of photographs he took in Iceland.

Travelling back and forth between his parents’ homes, Elíasson spent a lot of time in Iceland. Over the years, he has witnessed first-hand the destruction of the glaciers due to global warming. In 1999, Elíasson photographed the receding glaciers across Iceland. In these images, it is possible to see where the ice had once been, however, they are not as shocking as the photographs taken this year. Elíasson returned to the same sites as his earlier photographs and recorded what the glaciers look like now. Displayed next to each other in the gallery, the changes to the landscape are obvious. Hoping to stir the emotions of the viewer, Elíasson is emphasising the importance of acting now before it is too late.

Around one-third of the exhibits rely on an audience to make the artwork complete. This is part of Elíasson’s attempt to make people more aware of themselves and their surroundings. Used in advertising for the exhibition, Your Uncertain Shadow (colour) proved to be popular with the majority of visitors. Hydrargyrum Medium-Arc Iodide (HMI) lamps light up the far wall of one of the rooms, which everyone must walk in front of to reach the next section. Rather than a simple shadow showing up on the wall when someone blocks the light source, four shadows appear instead, each one a different colour. Green, orange, blue and magenta human shapes are reflected on the wall, overlapping each other to create a rainbow of colours.

Seeing a shadow is not a new thing, they appear wherever there is a light source. Seeing multiple shadows in different colours, however, has a vastly different effect. Just as humans are captivated by rainbows in the sky, visitors spend several minutes making shapes on the wall, fully aware of their bodies. The presence of other people in the room is also taken into consideration as their shadows merge into others, making their way from one doorway to the next.

How do we live together? That is what one room-sized exhibit asks. There is no answer but, if the behaviour of the visitors is anything to go by, it may have something to do with staring at the ceiling. A foil mirror stretches from corner to corner of the ceiling, reflecting everything on the ground below. A black stainless steel upside-down arch joins the floor to the ceiling, creating the illusion of a full circle in the mirror. There is no explanation; there are no instructions, yet everyone stares at their reflection. Some people go as far as lying on the floor, meditatively staring up at the ceiling.

Big Bang Fountain is equally ambiguous in meaning. Every couple of seconds, water gushes out of a hole in the centre of a table, however, it can only be viewed for a split second at a time – blink and you miss it. The pitch-black room is lit with a quick flash from a strobe light, briefly revealing the fountain to the viewer. The quickness of the flash makes the fountain appear to be stationary, taking on a different shape each time. The experience is unique to each individual; whilst there may be several people in the room, each person views the fountain from a different angle, therefore, the shape the water forms in the brief flash of light is different for everybody.

The final room of the exhibition, the “expanded studio”, reveals Elíasson’s thought processes behind the artworks. As well as producing art, Elíasson’s studio has expanded by collaborating with other professionals to produce public sculptures, work on architectural projects, choreograph dances, and publish a cookbook. His architectural studio, known as Studio Other Space, focuses on addressing issues the world is facing today, for instance, climate change.

A room-length pin-board shows the research, ideas and goals of the studio. Replicating the boards in the real studio, Elíasson shares images, articles, newspaper clippings, and random thoughts organised in alphabetical order around keywords, for instance, Rainbow, Trust and Uncertainty.

A couple of videos explain a few of the recent projects undertaken by Studio Other Space. In 2012, Elíasson launched Little Suns, a project to raise awareness of the importance of access to clean energy. Elíasson and his studio designed solar-powered lamps and have distributed more than 800,000 of them around the world. Little Suns provides light to places off the electricity grid and cuts down the use of fossil fuels.

To end the exhibition, The Structural evolution project, first staged in 2001, allows visitors to collaborate by building, adding to and rebuilding structures and shapes from Zometool sticks and connectors. Similar to children’s construction toys, the project allows everyone of all ages to be creative, work alone or together and enjoy the process.

If the artwork in the exhibition is not enough, there are a couple of installations elsewhere in the Tate grounds. This includes a waterfall, lights that make everything appear monochrome, an electric fan dangerously swinging from the ceiling and a geometrical sphere called Stardust Particle. Elíasson’s studio has also teamed up with Tate Eats to provide soups, salads, bread and cakes based on the studio’s cookbook.

Olafur Eliasson: In Real Life is due to close on 5th January 2020, so make sure you visit soon. Tickets are £18 for adults, £5 for 12-18 years olds and free for under 12s.
#OlafurEliasson

The Colour of Memory

It has been twenty years since the last exhibition of paintings by the late-impressionist Pierre Bonnard (1867-1947) was displayed at Tate Modern. Now, until 6th May, the artworks have returned to introduce a new generation to one of the greatest colourists of the early 20th century. Beginning around 1900, Pierre Bonnard: The Colour of Memory focuses on his mature work, many of which allow a glimpse into Bonnard’s private, domestic life.

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Bonnard with his dog, 1941, André Ostier

Whilst the exhibition is in chronological order, very little of Bonnard’s life prior to 1900 is alluded to, therefore, the painter as a person remains rather elusive. Further research reveals that Pierre Bonnard was born on 3rd October 1867 in Fontenay-aux-Roses, just south of Paris. He was the second of three children; the elder, Charles, became a chemist, whereas the younger sister, Andrée was a musician. Neither of Bonnard’s parents had any art connections and his father, a departmental head at the French Ministry of War, intended his son to study law.

Bonnard did begin studying law faculty in Paris during 1887 but found he had no interest in the subject. Instead, he enrolled in schools, such as the Académie Julian, where he befriended the painter Paul Sérusier (1864-1927), and the École des Beaux-Arts, where he met Édouard Vuillard (1868-1940), with whom he would become life-long friends. Through these two friendships, Bonnard became associated with the Nabis (the Hebrew word for “Prophets”), a group of artists who saw themselves as prophets of modern art, often acting as a mystical brotherhood, wearing Oriental costumes to their monthly meetings.

Through his association with the Nabis, Bonnard developed a passion for Japanese art, earning himself the nickname “le Nabi très japonard”. He admired the decorative flatness of Japanese art, which lead him to experiment with painted screens, posters and book illustrations. As a result, Bonnard was well-known in the graphic design field, however, by 1900, he had left this aesthetic behind, in favour of the impressionist style shown in the exhibition.

There were two women in Bonnard’s life who were frequently used as his muse. The first was his long term partner Marthe de Méligny (1869-1942), who he met in 1893 and married thirty-two years later. As Bonnard discovered due to marriage, Marthe’s real name was Maria Boursin, however, she had changed it in an attempt to appear more than a working-class girl.

Despite not marrying until later in life, Bonnard and Marthe defied convention and lived together as a couple, therefore, Marthe was often on hand to act as Bonnard’s model. Many of the paintings Marthe inspired, as the first few rooms of the exhibition reveal, involved nudity, however, there was nothing corrupt or shameful about the way these figures were portrayed.

Bonnard prefered to paint from memory rather than on location, therefore, his paintings of female nudes were not posed or portrayed in contrived positions. Instead, Bonnard captured natural, casual moments, for example, a woman washing or dressing. Mirror above a Washstand (La Glace du cabinet toilette) shows the back of a naked woman reflected in a dressing table mirror. It is as though the model is unaware of the painter’s presence, however, she is not ashamed of her nakedness, emphasised by a female companion seen drinking a cup of tea in close proximity.

The other regularly occurring woman in Bonnard’s paintings is his lover Renée Monchaty. The true nature of their relationship is unclear, however, it does not appear to have been too private because she accompanied him to public places. Although this affair must have put a strain on Bonnard’s relationship with Marthe, he eventually broke it off with Renée and married his long term partner in 1925. Renée, perhaps heartbroken, took her own life the following month.

“I leave it … I come back … I do not let myself become absorbed by the object itself.”
– Pierre Bonnard

One of the first paintings in the exhibition, Young Women in the Garden (Jeunes femmes au Jardin) shows both of Bonnard’s women. The central figure seated at a table is Renée and the profile of a woman in the lower righthand corner has been identified as Marthe. The significance of this painting, however, is not the presence of both women, but the length of time it took Bonnard to complete the picture. After beginning in 1921, Bonnard put the canvas aside for many years, finally coming back to it in 1945 after both women in the scene were dead. This was a common occurrence for Bonnard, he would leave paintings and come back to them at a later date to add more detail. In fact, he never considered a painting to be completely finished.

Although it often took Bonnard years to complete a painting – if they can be called complete – his subject matter was inspired by the camera. Bonnard and Marthe were keen photographers and the notion of being able to capture a single moment helped Bonnard to move away from the typical poses of artists’ models. A camera can seize an image in a split second in a way that painting never could. It can capture a movement, freezing it forever. Bonnard, in his own unique way, attempted to replicate the unplanned, spontaneous abilities of the camera.

Unlike the camera, however, Bonnard explored the possibilities of colour, settling for bold, expressive combinations. Bonnard, along with artists such as Henri Matisse (1869-1954), earned the nickname “Fauves”, the French word for “wild beasts” on account of their use of raw colour.

“You see, when I and my friends adopted the Impressionsts’ colour programme in order to build on it we wanted to go beyond naturalistic colour impressions. Art is not nature – we wanted a more rigorous composition. There was also so much more to extract from colour as a means of expression. But developments ran ahead, society was ready to accept Cubism and Surrealism before we had reached what we viewed as our aim.”
– Pierre Bonnard

Around the time that Bonnard was distancing himself from the Nabis group, he purchased his first car in 1911, which allowed him to explore the countryside and the power that natural light had on the landscape – something he tried to express in his later paintings. A year later in 1912, Bonnard bought a house in Vernonnet, Normandy, which he called Ma Roulotte (My Caravan). It is from here and the surrounding areas that the majority of Bonnard’s work in the exhibition were produced.

Except for the paintings of his nude partner in the bedroom or bathroom, the room that features the most in Bonnard’s work is the dining room whose windows look out onto the luscious, green back garden. Although the scenes may change, the room is recognisable from painting to painting.

Bonnard’s exploration of colour can be seen in the Dining Room in the Country (Salle à manger à la campagne), which was one of the first paintings he produced at his home in Normandy. The crisper, fresher colours of the garden contrast with the warm glow of the interior. The woman’s presence, most likely Marthe, leaning on the window sill, looking into the house was not posed for the painting; Bonnard was painting from memory.

There are many examples where Bonnard has contrasted the colours of the exterior and interior. Another is Open Window Towards the Seine (Vernon) (Fenêtre ouverte sur la Seine (Vernon)), where the green and blue hues are total opposites to the darker orange tones of the room. Almost missable at the edge of the canvas is a small figure of a boy in the doorway looking out into the garden. It is uncertain who the boy is because, although not much is known about Bonnard’s private life, it is believed he and Marthe never had children.

The contrast of colour between outside and inside in the painting Coffee (Le Café) is much starker than the previous two paintings. The intensity of the tones on the table cloth, yellow jumper and dog are much more precise than the gloomy grass and pathway that can be seen through the window. This suggests that the painting was produced, or at least the vision or memory in Bonnard’s head was formed, in the early evening or during a winter afternoon, the lack of sunlight dulling the natural colours of the garden.

The majority of Bonnard’s paintings show peaceful, tranquil scenes, however, during the years surrounding the First World War, Bonnard experimented with busier images. In some ways, Bonnard’s View from Uhlenhorst Ferry House on the Outer Alster Lake with St. Johannis (Fête sur L’Eau), resembles the genre of scenes that the impressionist Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919) produced in his heyday. Renoir is famous for his paintings of bustling Parisian society and leisure activities, such as boating on a lake. Bonnard’s painting, whilst resembling Renoir in terms of content, sticks to his loose, painterly style full of shimmering light and colour.

View from Uhlenhorst Ferry House… is a response to the new sights and activities Bonnard experienced when visiting Hamburg with Édouard Vuillard at the invitation of Alfred Lichtwark (1852-1914), the Director of the Kunsthalle, the city’s museum. The regatta in the harbour is a completely different reality to Bonnard’s day-to-day life.

When the war began in August 1914, Bonnard was 46 years old and eligible to serve in the French army. Nonetheless, he opted not to fight in the conflict and continued to focus on his art. Whilst he continued to paint his usual topics, he did not entirely ignore the death and destruction occurring around him. In 1917, Bonnard painted A Village in Ruins near Ham (Un Village en ruines près de Ham) to record the devastation the war caused. Ham was a commune in the Somme, which was the scene of a lengthy battle in 1916. The painting, which looks unfinished, uses a watery-technique to reflect the desolation.

Towards the end of the war, Bonnard painted yet another artwork that transcends the usual genre of his work. The Fourteenth of July (Quatorze Julliet) shows the hustle and bustle of a crowded street during the night of 14th July, France’s national day. Although the Armistice was yet to come, the celebrating crowd emphasises the patriotism of the French, which Bonnard captured with urgent brushwork.

After the war, Bonnard’s painting returned to the calmer, more precise method he had previously honed. Whilst this may have symbolised the return to peace, it also coincided with the death of his mother Elizabeth, which, for Bonnard, signalled a larger break with the past. Whereas most people separated their lives into before war and after the war, Bonnard used the death of his mother to split his before and afters.

Just as Bonnard returned to painting the female nude, his interior scenes continued to have the same background features – a window and a door. The Bowl of Milk (Le Bol de lait), however, only contains one window and, instead of a garden, looks out over the sea. The room appears to be lit by the reflection on the water rather than the sunlight itself.

Vernonnet, where Bonnard lived, was a short distance from Giverny where the prolific artist Claude Monet (1840-1926) lived. Bonnard regularly visited the older artist, whose landscape paintings encouraged Bonnard to create his own, away from the house. Nonetheless, whilst Monet worked en plein air, Bonnard continued to memorise the scene in his head and paint at a later date.

Although Bonnard began producing landscape paintings, they continued to contrast man-made and natural environments. His use of colour, however, continued to go beyond the realms of natural colour. This may have been in order to distinguish himself from other artists at exhibitions in Paris that he sent artworks to every year.

At this time, Bonnard was having a love affair with Renée Monchaty with whom he visited Rome in 1921. Similar to his trip to Hamburg in 1913, Bonnard recorded the sights he saw in his artwork, for example, Piazza del Popolo, Rome where his nephew Charles Terrasse (1893-1982) was studying. This fact, along with letters sent to Marthe from both Bonnard and Renée suggests that the affair was not a secret.

The scenes in Rome are urban and feature many figures, both in the foreground and the background. Monet, however, had convinced Bonnard to experiment with countryside landscapes, such as that which can be seen in The Violet Fence (La Palissade violette). True to Bonnard’s style, the green landscape is made up of unnaturally bright green hues and is contrasted with the paler, man-made wooden fence.

As well as landscapes, Bonnard turned his hand to still life, devoid of human presence and the outside world. Basket of Bananas (Le Corbeile de bananes) uses a similar colour scheme to the interior of rooms he painted in the previous decade, thus suggesting these still lives may have been painted or seen in the same setting.

One room of the exhibition contains a number of paintings that Bonnard produced in 1925. What sets these particular paintings apart from the rest of the display is that a number have been removed from their frames in order to provide an insight into how the artist worked. Rather than using an easel, Bonnard pinned his canvases directly onto the wall, allowing him to paint the entire surface. Often, he pinned several on the same wall so that he could switch between paintings whenever he felt like working on something different.

In Bonnard’s work, there is a sense of cropping with some features only half in the picture. This, in a way, echoes the camera, which can only capture what can be seen through the lens. By removing the frames, viewers can see that the cropping was intentional and not an effect of the frame. On some paintings, Bonnard sketched in lines where the frame would fall in order to make sure everything he wanted in the scene would be on view.

In 1926, Bonnard and Marthe moved to the village of Le Cannet in the south of France. The name of their new house was Le Bosquet (The Grove) on account of its surrounding thicket of trees. His painting The Garden (Le Jardin) shows the mass of growth the Bonnard’s had in their back garden, emphasised by Bonnard’s rapid brushstrokes.

The walls of the final rooms in the exhibition are painted Naples yellow, which was the same shade that Bonnard painted his dining room at Le Bosquet. The common theme of contrast between exterior and interior continued in his new home, as can be seen in Large Dining Room Overlooking the Garden (Grande Salle à manger sur le jardin). This painting took over a year to complete, which goes to show how good Bonnard’s memory (or imagination) was since there was no way he could possibly set up his canvas in the same room for that length of time.

The colour yellow became more prominent in these later paintings, perhaps due to the colour of Bonnard’s dining room walls. Bonnard began experimenting with self-portraits, such as The Boxer (Le Boxeur), which also has a yellow background.

The final years of Bonnard’s life were marred by the Second World War and the death of his life-long companion Marthe in January 1942. The war and subsequent travel restrictions meant that Bonnard was mostly confined to his home and the surrounding countryside. Nevertheless, he persevered with his paintings, finding solace in his encounters with nature, which he recorded on canvases, for instance, Steps in the Artist’s Garden (L’Escalier dans le jardin de l’artiste).

In a slightly different from usual manner, Bonnard depicted swimmers in the sea in Bathers at the End of the Day (Baigneurs à la fin du jour). Whilst the deep blue tones cover the majority of the canvas, the colours merge into greens and yellows at the top and bottom to form the shore and sky.

Despite subtle changes over the years, Bonnard continued to return to his typical interplay between interior and exterior. The Studio with Mimosa (L’Atelier au mimosa) was begun in 1939 and took until 1946, the year before his death, to complete. Unlike the contrasting colours used in previous examples, these tones appear to explode from the canvas, taking on a fiery atmosphere. Bonnard claimed his choice of colours were emotion driven, which in this instance could suggest feelings of anger and frustration over the losses he had suffered in life through war and death.

“I am just beginning to understand what it is to paint. A painter should have two lives, one in which to learn, and one in which to practise his art.”
– Pierre Bonnard

For a painter who never thought his paintings were finished, Bonnard completed a large number of canvases. By omitting his work produced prior to 1900, Tate Modern create a picture of an artist who discovered a method he could work with and stuck with for most of his life. At a time when the art world was moving on to newer, abstract things, Bonnard stuck to the style that had worked for him and produced a unique collection of work.

It is a shame that so little is known about Pierre Bonnard’s life, however, Tate Modern provide visitors with photographs and correspondence that reveal a little of Bonnard’s personality and daily situation. He was a contemporary of Matisse and Pablo Picasso (1881-1973), who had differing views about their friend’s style of art, the former believing that Bonnard was “one of the greatest painters”.

Whilst Bonnard’s work may not be to everyone’s taste, his paintings are pleasant to look at and, despite some nudism, are not repulsive in any way. In art history, the focus tends to be on the prevailing art movements of the time, so it is thanks to Tate Modern that this unconventional artist will not be forgotten.

Pierre Bonnard: The Colour of Memory will be on display until 6th May 2019. Tickets cost £18 for adults, although members of Tate can visit for free.

Picasso, 1932

LOVE, FAME, TRAGEDY

The year is 1932, a leap year. The United States and the United Kingdom are suffering from the Great Depression. Europe is in the grip of economic depression and mass unemployment. National Socialism is on the rise in Germany and political developments in France are adding to the growing tension. Picasso is 50 years old and preparing for his first major retrospective to be held in June at the Galeries Georges Petit in Paris. This year could either make him or break him.

Dubbed his “year of wonders”, the Tate Modern has chosen to examine the life and works of Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) during 1932. Married to the Russian ballerina Olga Khokhlova, although having an affair for the much younger, 22-year-old Marie-Thérèse Walter, Picasso was living the life of a well-to-do bourgeoisie in France, wearing tailored suits and owning a personal chauffeur-driven car. However, political and economic problems throughout the world remained persistently in the background, a constant premonition of tragedies to befall both the artist and the rest of the world.

“The work that one does is a way of keeping a diary.”
Pablo Picasso

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Pablo Picasso, Man Ray, 1932

Now considered the Father of Modern Art, Picasso came from more humble origins. Born Pablo Ruiz Picasso on 25th October 1881 in Malaga, Spain, he developed his love of art from his father who taught at the Escuela Provincial de Bellas Artes. A young prodigy, Picasso purchased his own studio in Barcelona at the age of 16, however, he spent the majority of his time there in poverty.

Picasso’s move to Paris at the turn of the century was a blessing for both his artwork and his financial situation. His collaboration with the French painter Georges Braque (1882-1963) led to their invention of Cubism, a revolutionary new artistic approach. At the same time, Picasso met Olga Khokhlova (1891-1955) who he married in 1918, and celebrated the birth of their son, Paulo (1921-75), three years later.

As Picasso’s wealth and reputation excelled, his family life suffered. By 1932, his marriage was under considerable strain, not helped by his clandestine affair with Marie-Thérèse Walter (1909-77). Despite the situation with his personal relationships, Picasso was determined to compete creatively with his contemporaries, working hard to facilitate his own retrospective.

“I paint objects as I think them, not as I see them.”
Pablo Picasso

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Pablo Picasso: Woman with Dagger

The EY Exhibition: Picasso 1932 opens with one of Picasso’s final paintings of 1931. Woman with Dagger is an example of the style Picasso was known for at this period of time. The Surrealist technique reduces the image to a series of lines and colours, morphing into strange shapes. This painting shows a woman stabbing her sexual rival to death, however, the bodies are so distorted, it is difficult to make out who is who.

Being the first painting of the exhibition, Woman with Dagger gives an inaccurate precedent of the works to come. As visitors will note as they walk through the following rooms, Picasso focused heavily on portraits, particularly of women, often seated in an armchair. Judging from the date and frequency of these paintings, the sitter is likely to be Picasso’s lover, Marie-Thérèse, however, the artist admitted himself that he rarely painted from life, preferring to use his imagination or memories of dreams.

 

Supposedly, the armchair in Picasso’s paintings symbolises death. Whilst the sitter is young, painted with bright, vibrant colours, the muted, darker background and chair represent the constraints of life. Often, the model and chair amalgamate, suggesting that the woman is tied to the chair, tied to fate, tied to inevitable death.

A typical feature in Picasso’s portraits is the dual profile of the face showing half from the side and half face on. Although many art critics have their own theories, commentators at the Tate have suggested this evokes a form of sexual tension. The face is half woman, the way she sees herself, and half male, or the way a lover or sexual predator may view her. Glancing at a Picasso, it is easy to miss these sexual references, however, those who opt for an audio guide at the beginning of the exhibition, soon get all the details pointed out to them.

Despite always working in a surrealist-like manner by distorting the female body, Picasso occasionally experimented with the way he treated the painting. In Woman in a Red Armchair, Picasso converts his flat, colourful shapes into three-dimensional abstract forms, comparable to a sculpture. As well as painting, Picasso turned his hand to sculpting, however, if this painting were to be produced in clay, cement or such like, it would immediately fall apart.

Prior to 1932, Picasso experimented with unorthodox methods of sculpting whilst at his 18th-century château in Normandy. During this time he produced a number of busts of a woman – again, likely to be Marie-Thérèse – in a similar fashion to his painted versions. The bulging, distended shape of the face has been replicated in cement, creating a dual profile that changes its overall appearance depending on what angle it is viewed from. Seen from the side, the bust looks like a typical face (despite the oversized nose), however, from the front, the facial features are terribly out of proportion. A series of photographs of a selection of Picasso’s sculptures are on display taken by the French-Hungarian photographer Brassaï (1899-1984).

 

Throughout the first half of 1932, Picasso continued to focus on his portraits of women, often depicting them in the nude. The surreal, abstract quality of his work prevents the paintings from becoming overly provocative, just as the original reclining nudes of the Renaissance-era were not unduly sexualised. By taking a traditional subject and reproducing it in a contemporary style, Picasso was endeavouring to prove that figurative painting could be modern.

Midway through the exhibition, a room is devoted to Picasso’s retrospective held at the Galerie Georges Petit. Apart from a few exceptions, it was rare for living artists to have retrospectives. They tended to be a summary of the life of the artist, therefore, Picasso included a range of his works from different times of his life. In order to obscure his artistic development, Picasso did not hang works in a chronological order, interspersing recent paintings with those produced many years before. Nonetheless, critics could group some together due to the regular appearance of Marie-Thérèse Walter and portraits of his young son were easily dated to when he was a child.

 

The paintings of Picasso’s family: Olga, Paulo and himself, may surprise many viewers on account of their “normality”. Before Picasso developed Cubism and dabbled with Surrealism, he produced many realistic paintings. Although the portraits do not look finished, they show the broad talent of Picasso in terms of painting. Being able to produce realistic likenesses but choosing not to says a lot about what Picasso wanted to achieve through his artwork. He wanted his work to be looked at and thought about, concealing subliminal messages within the twists and turns of the abstract body parts.

“I feel like I am witnessing a retrospective vision of myself ten years after my death.”
Pable Picasso

Despite the lengths Picasso went to facilitate his own retrospective, declining offers of help from prestigious organisations such as The Museum of Modern Art in New York, Picasso refused to attend the actual show – allegedly, he went to the cinema instead! Nevertheless, he achieved what he set out to do and was satisfied, unlike the gallery, which due to economic and political turmoil, closed its doors for good the following year.

 

Once Picasso’s exhibition was out of the way, the artist felt less pressure to produce masterpieces. His canvases got smaller and the treatment of his paintbrushes more fluid and less careful. One example is Nude Woman in a Red Armchair painted in July 1932, where the model – Marie-Thérèse Walter – is a soft, rotund figure, without the harsh outlines of older paintings. The blues and purples give the woman a dream-like quality, suggesting Picasso had strong feelings of love towards her, which stands in stark contrast to the dark background tones.

Throughout 1932, Picasso also produced a number of charcoal drawings. Although they look like unfinished studies, they are intended to be finished works in their own right. The subject matter, for instance, a sleeping woman, is typical of Picasso, however, he concentrated on line-drawing rather than colour.

These charcoal drawings on canvas, despite being finished pieces, are not dissimilar to what can be found in Picasso’s sketchbooks. Picasso rarely created preparatory studies, however, he liked to practice his drawing skills by making a rapid succession of sketches. These give some indication of the starting points of a painting, how the shapes were built up to resemble people and other elements. For actual artworks, Picasso would draw onto the canvas before filling in the resulting shapes with colour.

 

With the summer over, Picasso’s subject matter changed drastically. Motivated by classical themes, religious and secular, he began to paint different scenes, particularly focusing on the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ. Picasso produced a large number of black and white studies, experimenting with shapes, both two- and three-dimensional, and line work to create a representation of Christ on the Cross. He was particularly inspired by the Isenheim Altarpiece produced in c1521 by Matthias Grünewald. This influence is evident in Picasso’s versions, the figures being situated in the same places, despite the abstract nature of the studies.

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Composition with Butterfly

During these experimental months, Picasso also experimented with forms of collages. These involved the use of found objects, both natural and manmade, which were layered together to create a picture. Composition with Butterfly contains a dried leaf, the remains of a real butterfly, and string, manipulated to produce the shape of a human being.

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The Rescue

 

As 1932 drew to a close, Picasso’s subject matter got significantly darker. The theme of being rescued from death-by-drowning became Picasso’s focus. The Rescue, the final painting of the year, shows a woman being saved either by another woman or by a bird. The meaning is not entirely clear, which leaves viewers guessing and coming up with their own theories.

The colours are not as bright as works from the beginning of the year and the paint is applied in a rushed, distressed manner, which may suggest more about the artist’s frame of mind rather than the intention of the painting. From September onwards, Picasso rapidly changed styles and subject matter, giving the impression he was restless and possibly suffering from some kind of anguish.

As the strapline for the exhibition states, Picasso’s year consisted of three major themes: love, fame and tragedy. The first half of the year, Picasso was enjoying his clandestine affair with Marie-Thérèse Walter, which led on to his retrospective exhibition. Achieving fame and recognition, Picasso was at the height of his career, successful and wealthy. Unfortunately, the final quarter of 1932 found Picasso in a different state of mind, although it is impossible without knowing the man to pinpoint the exact reason for this. It did, however, present a forbidding premonition of events to come.

By 1932, Picasso’s marriage to Olga was already under strain, however, the illegitimate birth of his daughter Maya with Marie-Thérèse ended things for good. Olga moved to the south of France, taking son Paulo with her; an event that Picasso described as the worst period of his life.

At the same time, the world was not fairing any better. In January 1933, Hitler became German Chancellor, Italy was under fascist dictatorship and Picasso’s home country Spain was submerged in a civil war. Six years later, the entire world was at war and Picasso’s successful year, his “year of wonders”, was a distant memory.

Picasso 1932 is an exhibition suitable for all. Although the subject matter of many paintings may not seem appropriate for youngsters, the abstract forms hide the sexual meanings from innocent minds. The exhibition is popular with school parties who come to look at the shapes and colours of Picasso’s works, whereas adult visitors can study the paintings in more detail with the aid of an optional audioguide (£4.50) and a pocket-sized booklet.

The EY Exhibition: Picasso 1932 organised by Tate Modern in collaboration with Musée national Picasso-Paris costs £22 entry per person or free for those in possession of a membership card. Under 18s can visit for £5 and younger children under the age of 12 may enter for free. This exhibition will remain open to the public until 9th September 2018. 

Modigliani

Amedeo Clemente Modigliani (1884-1920) was an Italian painter, sculptor and draughtsman who spent the majority of his working career in Paris. Almost a century after his death, the Tate Modern in London is holding the biggest display of Modigliani’s work in the UK to date, looking back at the artist’s productive, albeit brief, life. With over 100 artworks produced in Modigliani’s distinctive style, this exhibition contains some of the professed most memorable artworks of the 20th century.

“The life of Modigliani, wandering artist, so often resembles a legend, it is difficult to determine fact from fiction.”

-Arthur Pfannstiel, 1929

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Photo: Modigliani

Modigliani died at the age of 35 after a fourteen-year career as an artist. Due to his early demise and his rumoured lifestyle, there has been a lot of incorrect speculation about his character. He was deemed as socially unconventional and earned a reputation as the archetypal romantic painter, starving in a cramped living space, whilst falling victim to alcohol and drugs. Within this exhibition, the Tate Modern attempts to biographically outline his life alongside his intense and controversial artwork.

Born into a Sephardic Jewish family in Livorno, Italy, Modigliani was a rather sickly child, suffering from a handful of illnesses, including Tuberculosis. His mother, at risk of spoiling her son, encouraged his passion for art, which led to him receiving a years education at Micheli’s Art School in 1898, run by the local artist Guglielmo Micheli (1866-1926). This was Modigliani’s first form of artistic instruction, which, naturally given the school’s location, focused on the study of techniques and themes of Italian Renaissance art. Although Modigliani would quickly develop his own style, evidence of his former training can be seen in his paintings, for example, the linear grace of his work resembles that of Botticelli (1445-1510), whereas, his focus on reclining nudes may have stemmed from Titian (1488-1576), who was one of the first artists to produce paintings of this nature.

Modigliani’s personal style began developing almost simultaneously with his move to Paris in 1906. Penniless, Modigliani settled in a commune in Montmartre, where he absorbed ideas from other artists in the area. He was particularly influenced by works he saw by the late Cézanne, adopting the simplicity of loose brushstrokes and method of colour handling. Modigliani is a significant example of the way exposure to new people and places affect artists.

Evidence of Modigliani’s impoverished lifestyle can be seen at the beginning of the exhibition. On more than one occasion, he used both sides of the canvas for different paintings, implying that he did not have enough money to afford new canvases. An example is The Cellist (1909), which contains Portrait of Constantin Brancusi (1909) on its reverse. In other works, ghostly faces can be seen through the bright paint as a result of Modigliani reusing old canvases.

 

Between 1911 and 1913, Modigliani put painting aside in favour of sculpture. At least two dozen were produced within this time period, several of  whichthe Tate Modern has on display. At this time in France, European artists were drawn to museums containing a wide range of historic art and antiquities, particularly from ancient civilisations in Africa. The Egyptian style was a particular favourite of Modigliani, which he replicated in his own carved heads by mimicking the clean lines and elongated facial features.

 

It is thought that Modigliani stole blocks of limestone from building sites to use for his sculptures. It was a far more expensive pursuit than painting, which may be one reason why he abandoned the project. Another reason may have been the outbreak of World War One, which would have restricted his access to materials, but, the most likely explanation for returning to painting was the effect the dust from the carved limestone was having on his weakened lungs. However, these few years spent sculpting brought a new dimension to his artwork.

The distinctive style of portraiture that Modigliani has become recognised for encompasses many of the elements that featured in his sculptures. Rather than painting the sitter as he saw him or her, Modigliani altered their appearances with swan-like necks and almond-shaped eyes. He often left the eyes blank with no discernible iris or pupil. Although not intentional, this makes the portraits look unnerving, like creatures out of a Doctor Who episode.

 

In 1916, Modigliani became friends with the art dealer Léopold Zborowski (1889-1932) and his wife Anna (1885-1978) – both of their portraits are part of this exhibition. Zborowski encouraged Modigliani to go down a new route: painting the female nude. Painting the naked body was nothing new in the art world, however, the way in which Modigliani approached it caused some controversy amongst art patrons.

The models who posed for these paintings dominated the canvas, often making direct eye-contact with the viewer. This indicates the changes occurring in the lives of women at the beginning of the 20th century. Women were more independent and had more say about their bodies. To further emphasise the point, Modigliani went against tradition and included pubic hair in his compositions, showing the true female form and not the idealised male preference. Unfortunately, these paintings were censored by a police commissioner on the grounds of indecency. Twelve of these nudes have been located and loaned to the Tate Modern.

As the exhibition nears its end, visitors see some of the works produced within Modigliani’s final years. As well as this, the exhibition narrative takes a more personal tone, revealing the more private life of the painter. Modigliani travelled to Nice in 1918 to avoid the end of the war and to alleviate his worsening health problems. With him came his pregnant partner, Jeanne Hébuterne (1898-1920) who bore him a daughter of the same name (1918-84). Jeanne became the principal subject of his artwork, however, whilst in the French Riviera, he painted local children and friends, opting for warm Mediterranean colours. Arguably, these are some of his strongest works.

 

The quality of Modigliani’s paintings, however, are a stark contrast to the direction his life was taking. He never made much money from painting, and anything he did earn fueled his growing addiction to drugs and alcohol. Although he continued to paint, his health was deteriorating rapidly and frequently suffered alcohol-induced blackouts. None of this is evident in Modigliani’s final self-portrait. Instead, he looks like a professional, confident painter, well-dressed with paint palette in hand. His dapper appearance initially made him seem reserved and asocial at the beginning of his career, however, his reputation changed rapidly, resulting in the rakish vagabond he ended his life as.

Destroyed by his own self-indulgence, Amedeo Modigliani died on 24th January 1920 in the Hôpital de la Charité where he spent his final days suffering from tubercular meningitis. His fiancee, who was expecting his second child, took her own life the day after his funeral, jumping out of a fifth-story window.

Art historians suggest that if Modigliani had not neglected his health, he could have lived to produce great masterpieces. Modigliani kept his illness secret claiming the symptoms were a result of his drunkenness. At that time in Paris, drunkards were tolerated but disease carriers were not.

 

When Modigliani died, he was well-known amidst the artist communities of Montmartre and Montparnasse, however, he was still unheard of throughout the rest of the world. His posthumous fame began two years later after his work featured in an exhibition at the Galerie Bernheim-Jeune in Paris. This was shortly followed by the publication of a biography by André Salmon (1881-1969) titled Modigliani, sa vie et son œuvre, which introduced Modigliani to people further afield.

Modigliani has been labelled an original artist of his time who modernised figurative painting, however, it is difficult to say how good a painter he was. In comparison to the traditional form of painting, Modigliani’s work is rather poor. On the other hand, modern artists and critics were beginning to develop a taste for unconventional ideas.

Some may say Modigliani’s loose brush strokes are expressive, whereas other people may declare they look rushed. One of his sitters noted that “the portrait was finished after a few hours without him stopping for even a minute.” Others recall that he was always drawing, sometimes ten sketches in one evening. It was almost as if he was addicted to painting in the same way he was addicted to alcohol.

The Tate Modern removes the focus from each individual painting, preferring to reflect on the styles and techniques used during various periods of Modigliani’s life. Regardless of visitors’ artistic preferences, there is something interesting in learning about the artist, his influences, and what led him to paint in this manner.

To delve deeper into the artist’s past, the Tate Modern offers a virtual reality experience, for those willing to queue for half an hour, which takes individuals on a tour of Modigliani’s final studio in Paris. Another option is an audio guide which provides detailed information about specific artworks around the exhibition. The latter, however, is not included in the price of the entry fee.

At £17.70, the exhibition is rather pricey and therefore may not be worth visiting if Modigliani’s artwork is not a favourite style. For members, however, entry is free therefore nothing is lost by viewing the exhibition, and, who knows, it may be more interesting than expected. It is certainly intriguing to find out about an artist’s background, and Modigliani’s life is a heartbreaking story.

Modigliani will remain open until 2nd April 2018. Tickets can be purchased online or on arrival at the gallery. Under twelves go free with a paying adult.

Giacometti the Obscure

 

Man Pointing 1947 by Alberto Giacometti 1901-1966

Man Pointing, 1947, Tate, London

It has been twenty years since a large display of Giacometti’s surrealist sculptures have been seen in the UK, however, the Tate Modern has reintroduced them to the public with their latest exhibition. Tracing Giacometti’s career and evidencing his interest with different materials, the gallery unveils his immediately recognisable, unique style of sculpture as well as portrait painting, some of which have never been seen before.

Alberto Giacometti (1901-1966) was born in a small village in the Swiss Alps where he was surrounded by paintings produced by his post-impressionist artistic father. After a brief education at the École des Arts et Métiers in Geneva, Giacometti abandoned the taught naturalistic method of sculpture in favour of experimentation. His peculiar style developed further after temporarily joining the Surrealist movement in the early 1930s.

It was after the Second World War when Giacometti finally settled on the elongated style of figures seen in the Tate Modern’s exhibition. These fragile looking sculptures suggest existentially tragedy with their emaciated appearance. This may have been influenced by Giacometti’s friendship with the existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Satre.

On entering room one of the exhibition, visitors are subjected to gruesome-looking heads shaped out of clay and plaster – Giacometti’s preferred material. It is obvious from the unevenness of the sculptures that they have been moulded by hand, the pressures of the fingertips evident on the facial features. Although the subject matter is plain to see, the roughness of the texture gives the outcomes a more abstract feel. The proportions of skull and physiognomy are not aligned, resulting in a ghoulish appearance.

The human body remains Giacometti’s main focus throughout his life, moving on from the head to include the rest of the skeletal structure. His full body sculptures give off a sense of unease with their rawness and frailty. Apart from the period when Giacometti worked in miniature, his human depictions are extremely out of proportion. Often the legs are twice the length of the body, and the arms dangle down, muscle-less in an awkward fashion. The statues are painfully thin and inhuman, looking as though, were they not cast in bronze, they could easily snap in half.

Giacometti restricted himself to a minimum of means, using his hands rather than tools to shape and sculpt his figures. He had found his style and stuck to it, putting great care and effort into the work he would be remembered for. Giacometti liked to depict the rawness of reality rather than the ideals of the subconscious mind. As a result, his work is chilling and more likely to leave people cold or nauseated instead of appreciative and awed.

Although Giacometti’s skeletal figures may not be all that appealing, he was still a great influence and impressed many people. However, this was largely on account of his personality and devotion to his work, rather than his outcomes. Simone de Beauvoir, a French writer declared “Success, fame, money – Giacometti was indifferent to them all.”

There were occasions, however, when Giacometti did have to think about money as a means of living, particularly during the 1930s. During this decade, he created art with the intention to sell, focusing on decorative objects such as vases, jewellery and wall reliefs. As the Tate reveals in a cabinet in the third room of the exhibition, these commodities were dissimilar to his bronze sculptures, but still had Giacometti’s unique touch. His gritty, hand-rendered style meant each object was unique, yet, unfortunately, not particularly attractive. However, they must have appealed to someone since they were featured in both Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar magazine.

Despite the fact that sculpture was Giacometti’s primary technique, he also enjoyed painting. Painting was a significant part of his early life, but after moving to Paris, sculpture predominated all else. It was not until the conclusion of the Second World War that Giacometti made a welcome return to the paintbrush and easel. The final rooms of the exhibition display the portraits he produced in this latter period.

Unlike other artists, Giacometti was not interested in painting well-known people or taking commissions. Instead, he preferred to have his mother and brother sit for him, or close friends and acquaintances.

In the same way as his sculptures, Giacometti’s portraits feel raw and unfinished. His artistic style is so unique, it is easy to identify the paintings with his scultpures. The insubstatial, fragile representation of the human body is something which Giacometti portrays regardless of method or material.

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By drawing or painting, Giacometti was able to focus more on facial features and small details, something which was impractical on his wraith-like sculptures. And, although he restricted himself to a small palette, he was free to add touches of colour to his artworks.

Unlike the sculpted figures, it is possible to recognised the sitter (if you know who they are to begin with) represented on the canvas. They are also far more interesting to study. Expressive line work and range of tone add together to reveal a whole host of components to scrutinize.

The paintings, although somewhat abstract, are apprecibly more pleasant to view. Spectators are not subjected to, or repulsed by the nauseatingly skeletal framework of the figurines. Regrettably, there are a significant lack of these illustrations on display – the scultpure taking precedence.

The Tate Modern has done well to create a timeline of Alberto Giacometti’s life, from the beginning of his career until his death at the age of 65. Rather than detailing the works on display, the Tate has provided written information about different time periods and the effects the events within them had on his artistic developments.

Unfortunately, Giacometti’s distinctive techniques will not appeal to everyone; there is no beauty to be found, only intrigue at most. Unless you have a peculiar fascination with obscure scultpure, it is probably not worth paying the entry fee (unless you are a member, in which case you get in for free). This thus poses the question, how long will it be until Giacometti is forgetten about altogether?

2017: Wolfgang Tillmans

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La Palma, 2014

Photographer Wolfgang Tillmans’ debut exhibition 2017 at the Tate Modern is a week away from closing but is still attracting the attention of many visitors. Although born in Remscheid, Germany in 1968, Tillmans has spent many years in the UK and became both the first photographer and the first non-British artist to win the Turner Prize in the year 2000. Most of the works displayed at the Tate today, however, are from 2003 onwards.

Although the exhibited photographs span the past 14 years, 2017 is not a compilation of Tillmans developing style and skill, but rather a focus on the present day. Most people would define a photographer essentially as someone who takes photographs, but Tillmans takes the name to new levels. Each room has been specifically arranged by the artist to help visitors engage with themes of community, politics and society.

Rather than simply hanging photographs on walls, Tillmans has experiemented with whole-room installations, publications, videos and music. As visitors walk around the gallery, they can see snapshots laid out on tables where individual pieces can be studied in detail. The majority of the works that are on the walls are printed on papers of a considerable size, often meaning they are better viewed from a distance. With these mix of approaches, Tillmans is trying to represent how culture and technology shape the way people understand the current world.

Initially, the opening rooms may not enliven onlookers, and, without the provided guide leaflet, may not make sense or mean anything. However, with thanks to the Tate’s written explanations, it becomes clearer that method is just as important for Tillmans as the final outcomes. For instance, Tillmans likes to experiment with technology to show how advanced it has become, comparing digital methods with the outdated manual. For example, Tillmans reveals how much easier it is to photograph an urban night scene from a moving vehicle without the photograph being ruined by blurring. This is a result of the faster shutter speeds the latest cameras possess.

Each room of the exhibition contains a new theme, idea or approach, often displaying photographs from a particular project. One such undertaking is a series of photographs titled Neue Welt in which Tillmans visited the different continents taking snapshots of communal spaces, food, people and still-life, recording the differences and changes that time has had on the different cultures. Some of these are quite beautiful and are a contrast to some of his more abstract works.

Another project is titled Truth Study Center, which is focused less on a photography and more on research. It is in the room that Tillmans has made the most of the scattered tables in order to present his findings. Photographs, newspaper clippings, advertisements and so forth are laid out to express contridictory opinions and statements that have been issued by the government and politicians over the past couple of decades. This study questions what truth is and whether it is possible to trust what individuals, groups or organisations profess.

 

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Shanghai Night, 2009

It is clear from a great number of photographs that Tillmans primary topic of interest is
social life. He believes that everyone is vulnerable and is determined to prove his belief through unstaged imagery. He is particularly concerned with freedom and the interweaving spheres of personal and public life. Tillmans photographs people on the street and contrasts them with pictures of a more private nature, occassionally consisting of nudity.

 

Like many photographers, Tillmans has played around with portraiture, however his commercial outputs, and presumably his method of earning money, are a mix of posters, catalogues, magazine spreads, leaflets and books – principally items that can be mass produced. Examples of these can be found on tables in one of the exhibitions rooms. There are too many to be able to study them in detail, but the underlying theme is prominent. These lucrative formats are a means to express political opinion and contemporary interest. Although these compositions may not make his name known, Tillmans can still impress his views and beliefs over a widespread audience.

Interestingly, since he was born, lives and works in Berlin, Tellmans is passionate about the effects of Brexit, and in 2016, produced a series of posters encouraging British citizens to vote “remain”. Not many of these advertisements are amongst the selection of commercial items, however the photographs used on the designs are displayed in the final room of the exhibition. These images may look like tranquil sea-scapes, but they have an ulterior purpose. Tellmans is intrigued with the tangible lines and borders on the horizon caused by what looks like the meeting of the sea and sky, whereas, in reality, these are fluid. These photographs of the Atlantic Ocean are metaphors for opposing time zones and national frontiers, which may not be causing waves right now, but have the potential to in the future. This is why this series was suitable to illustrate the Brexit posters, because leaving the EU is a journey into the unknown. No one knows how it may affect the “tides”.

These posters were found in an article in the magazine Dezeen.

2017 is an interesting exhibition and not necessarily what you may be expecting. Seeing the processes and research that Wolfgang Tillmans undertakes makes the final outcomes far more meaningful than if viewed solely as artworks with no substantial background information. Unfortunately, as mentioned earlier, the exhibition is finishing soon, the final day being Sunday 11th June. However, there are over 200 photographs on the Tate website for those who wish to receive a basic impression of Tillmans photography, and one series of work (Concorde Grid, 1997) is on show at the Tate Britain as part of the  Walk Through British Art display. There are, of course, books such as Books for Architects, available for purchase.

Piet Mondrian: (A), B, C

On a recent trip to the Tate Modern, a friend and I came across a couple of paintings by the Dutch artist, Piet Mondrian (1872-1944). Without reading the accompanying title plaque, we both recognised the artist’s distinctive use of geometric shapes and colours. We learnt that these particular paintings were titled Composition B and Composition C, to which we both responded, “Where is Composition A?” Whether or not the Tate was displaying this painting (the website suggests it was) we never found it, but it made us wonder about the significance of these compositions.

With thanks to Google, I located a photograph of Mondrian’s Composition A, which conforms with his well known style, however contains significantly more colour.

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Having now seen all three of these compositions and compared them with each other, I was still none the wiser to their purpose or significance.

I wish to approach truth as closely as is possible, and therefore I abstract everything until I arrive at the fundamental quality of objects. – Mondrian

Born on 7th March 1872, Piet Mondrian, was one of the leading individuals in the establishment of abstract art. His early works were realistic representations with a delicate use of colour, however this all changed from 1907 onwards.

Mondrian was a pioneer of more than one art movement, the first significant one being Cubism. During the first world war, Mondrian was influenced by other painters of the time to stop using curved lines within his artwork. This led to the geometrical paintings Mondrian is well known for, and the development of another movement: De Stijl.

As the main face of De Stijl, Mondrian named his personal style Neo-Plasticism, a system that restricted artists to straight lines and basic colours (usually primary). During this period of time, the world was rapidly changing. The Great War provoked transformations in governments, societies, technologies and general day-to-day living. Mondrian attempted to find the undeviating reality buried beneath all the upheaval and believed that his strict, grid-like, asymmetrical paintings reflected this.

The art world may have moved on from Cubism and De Stijl, but Mondrian was a great influence on artists at the time, yet also the later industrial, decorative and advertisement art that began in the 1930s. His use of bold grids and thick black lines, encouraged designers to be more mindful of the ways artwork and typography are presented within a design. The grid structure was heavily adopted by the Swiss Typography movement, and is still used and taught today in design schools throughout the world.

Mondrian’s Compositions A, B and C, were essentially his way of coping with the destruction of the world he grew up in. By stripping back to the bare bones – black and white, primary colours – Mondrian was trying to reduce the world to its basic elements. The balance between black and white with red, blue or yellow are a representation of opposing forces that create a balance in the world, i.e. male and female, positive and negative.

Looking at the above paintings alone, you may conclude that Mondrian was an eccentric man, deliriously believing that he was accurately representing the world. However, if you study the progression from his early works to the ones he his more famous for, you will notice a gradual development of style, rather than a rapid, out-of-character change.

Whilst we will never know exactly what was going through Piet Mondrian’s head (unless we read his numerous writings), we can speculate that painting real life representations of landscapes and so forth lost the appeal after the destruction of countries as a result of war. Who would want to paint that, when instead you could focus on the true, never changing actualities at the heart of our existence?

I don’t want pictures, I want to find things out. – Mondrian