Titian et al at the National Gallery
The first striking thing in the exhibition is in the Callisto painting, the one on the far left as you enter. It’s the massive right arm of the nymph in the foreground, with her back to us – the one who holds the equally large arrow. The right arm is worthy of a shotputter and is out of proportion, but in a good, Michelangelo’s David sort of way (also substantially meaty are the arms of the goddess herself, as she fires the arrow at Actaeon in the “brown” picture).
In the centre of the Callisto painting is a glass object – an orb, globe or mirror – painted with the icy clarity of a Kalf still life. It sets off the slightly misty “seethingness” of Titian’s surface seen close up. In the autumnal tones of the painting depicting Actaeon’s death, the blurring is obvious, but can only be seen close up in the others.
In the painting where Actaeon surprises Diana, her small head and the odd angle at which it sits on her neck are, as always, striking; as with the arm, I point out distinctive, peculiar features which help make the pictures memorable for me.
Chris Ofili
There is a series of huge paintings which he calls the Ovid works. Several display that Art Nouveau, Beardsley – like line he used in the paintings in his last exhibition and that dry, thin surface with the dark blue/mauve ground. An enormous, light blue phallus in one – “Ovid; lust”, I think and a striking floor of red and white irregular “tiles” in another.
Conrad Shawcross
The Shawcross robot, smoothly running, with echoes of Epstein’s Rock Drill in its general appearance; while I was there, its movements resembled those of a dog sniffing its crotch with the light probe. For this reason, I took it to represent one of Actaeon’s hounds, but have since heard that it is supposed to be Diana herself.
There are also ballet costumes by several of the artists and a huge video of beautiful dancers and the directors rehearsing the ballets. And all free.
Albert Irvin; Fidelio
At Gimpel Fils in Davies Street W1 until September. Twenty six paintings, I think, that are great. A couple of years ago, I saw my first Albert Irvin at the top of the stairs in the Tate Britain and it left me completely unmoved. I thought it was boring; flat and brash, at the same time. Don’t know what happened – the “scales fell from my eyes” (where does that come from?) and now he’s my favourite living abstract painter, with Paul Feiler.
The “usual” fluorescent reds, greens, yellows, motifs that resemble flowers, crosses, pinnate leaves, stripes, squiggles, badges, circles – but amonst them, four stupendous paintings: “Rampart”, a tidal wave of wine or blood in a fluid block (?), “Brady”, yellow base with huge half-circle of green, covering left side; “Beacon”, with the grey/mauve ground and yellow-white cross hatchings like a cake – tiramisu maybe – spatched down on top; and “Trophy”, luminous green and red patches with a huge blue keyhole shape painted on it, for us to see through.
The first three are old – 76, 86 and 94 respectively – but “Trophy” is dated this year and all the rest are 2011 or 2012. He’s 90 years old; not much development, but pretty consistent.
It strikes me that you could group him with Hoyland, Bowling, Paul Jenkins and maybe Richter (the abstracts anyway) in that they don’t use earth colours much or at all – their colours are airborne and sizzling.
More Irvin at Kings’ place until 24th August.
The Passenger, Antonioni
Watched the last, long shot through the barred window three times and couldn’t see the assassin or make out a shot. Finally, watched it with Jack Nicholson’s commentary over the top; he points out – or at least, asks the question – “Was that a shot?” At some point, the camera goes through the bars and turns round to follow the women and police into the dead man’s room.
Blackpaint
2/08/12
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