George Blacklock – Colour and Abstraction (Crowood 2015)
Although I don’t agree with many (actually any) of the rules Blacklock sets out in his book, he makes the interesting observation that a painting differs from other art forms – literature, music, cinema, dance, theatre – in that you see the whole of a painting immediately. With the others, the work unfolds, revealing itself to you gradually; the painting’s there straightaway, in its entirety. Even with a sculpture, you often have to walk round it to get the full picture and, of course, you can’t see it all at the same time.
Obviously, with paintings by, say, Bosch or Bruegel, you can spend ages taking in the dozens of little monsters lurking in the landscape, or the proverbs that the peasants are acting out in the village; you don’t take in a whole painting instantly – but you do get an overall impression. I’m not sure I know where I’m going with this, so I leave the reader to consider the implications which I’m sure are interesting.
By the way, the rules Blacklock outlines in his intro are as follows:
- Make all marks with “absolute conviction”; hesitancy and doubt won’t do.
- Make sure that your surface is smooth and able to take the paint; no bobbles.
- Make sure you have enough of the right paint.
- Make sure you use the right-sized brush – is it big enough?
- Paint with conviction – no half measures!
I break all these rules, all the time, which is no doubt why I’m a shit painter.
The Night Manager, BBC
I think this is being way overpraised; Tom Hiddleston is unconvincing so far in the violent bits and the same goes for Olivia Colman, whose indignation about Roper and the “river boys” (MI6) looks manufactured to me. I don’t think it’s the fault of the actors – it’s just a really creaky book.
Churchill’s Secret, BBC
Gambon was brilliant but I can’t understand the point of having a fictional character (Romola Garai’s nurse) in there in a central role. Annoying, this mix of fact and fiction, where a big chunk of make-believe is chucked in. Gambon and Glenda Jackson looking alike these days, I noticed, when the latter was being fawned over by a woman guest presenter on a recent Artsnight (BBC2). It’s ageing, I suppose, working on the basic structures to eliminate the individuality; depressing.
Inside Llewyn Davis, 2013
This Coen Brothers film on TV the other night I realised how good it was, apart from John Goodman’s hammy bit; I love that flat stare that Oscar gives – disbelief, resignation, contempt, long-suffering, breaking point coming very close, very quickly – and a touch of ironic humour. That’s pretty good, just for a stare. The music was great too, spot on, especially “The Old (Auld?) Triangle”, Dominic Behan’s song, I think, delivered by a white-sweatered close harmony group – a sort of US college boy version of the Clancy Brothers.
Llewyn gives up trying – “That’s all I got” – and walks out of the club and “folk” music – as a young Bob Dylan sings in the background.
I’ve been stuck in a freezing gallery, watching passers-by pass by – but have managed to knock out this scruffy landscape-ish thing in between stints. Bobbly surface, ran out of paint, used the wrong brush and was hesitant and tentative.
Cold Blow, Rainy Night
Blackpaint
6th March 2016
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