Posts Tagged ‘Don McCullin’

Blackpaint 425 – Dreams, Mary Poppins and Chicken Sex

December 12, 2013

Tate Britain – Five Painters (again)

On second viewing, I saw something I’d missed, or hadn’t fully got, in Simon Ling’s paintings – the dream-like quality.  There’s a particular light, or maybe dullness, in the colours, as if it’s always late afternoon, gloomy, cloudy or actually more than that; sort of drained of light.  Don’t know what the lighting is like in your dreams, but the Ling quality certainly matches mine.

simon ling

I also liked the Storey monolith drawings more this time; not the paintings, but the ones on baking paper.  Definitely something Rachel Whiteread about them.

As for Lucy McKenzie, still can’t understand how she does her trompe l’oeil stuff, but neither can I see haw it relates to Fascism, as suggested in the leaflet, apart from the Lempicka-like figures and the Art Deco interiors… maybe something to do with facades, artificiality, make-believe; Fascisms are surely based on fantasy, after all.

“Stressed” photos by Henderson (forgot his first name), elsewhere in the gallery; one of a boy on bike, wobbly at edges, and one of a man striding across a road, apparently several feet off the ground.  Also, that fantastic photo by Don McCullin of the tramp, which has the quality, somehow, of a sunflower.

Sculptures in niches on stairway: one by Michael Sandle, “Drummer”, a life-size black robot-like figure which I was sure was a Philip King, until I saw the plaque; a William Turnbull, “Idol 2”, like a flatfish with a single large foot, as if fused; and Reg Butler’s brilliant grasshopper/mantis armed with a spear, which is actually called “Woman”, I believe.  Great, memorable image.

reg butler

 

Padre Padrone

I saw this film, directed by the Taviani brothers, many years ago; recently got it on DVD.  What I remembered, apart from the general brutality of the father in the Sardinian shepherd family, was  the boy learning to “hear” in the rural silence; particularly the rustling of the distant trees and the sound of the stream.

What I had forgotten was the scene in which a boy climbed on a box in order to sexually abuse an unfortunate donkey and several of his friends did the same (although not needing boxes) with chickens…  The father, on seeing this disturbing scene from the top of a hill, spurred his donkey on, not to rush down and put a stop to the abuse, but to pay an urgent visit to his wife…

Mrs. Dalloway

I’m finding this book rather less experimental than Jacob’s Room, or perhaps it’s because it is less episodic than that novel, staying with a particular character that little bit longer.  My partner was re-reading it, but stopped in annoyance, saying it reminded her of Mary Poppins (the film I think, not the book).  I was surprised, but I see what she means: the scenes in Regent’s Park, nannies with kids, an aeroplane sky writing, gentlemen with nothing to do sauntering around, observing – you could slot Dick Van Dyke in without great difficulty.  No animal abuse so far.

A Young Doctor’s Notebook (Sky Arts)

This has been going from strength to strength each week; Radcliffe and Hamm are an inspired combination.  Can’t think of any other series like it, off hand.

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Dark Glacier

Blackpaint

12.12.13

Blackpaint 293

September 8, 2011

Michael Craig-Martin’s Oak Tree

I’ve seen this at the Tate Britain many times, of course, but I read the interview extract on the wall for the first time yesterday – it reminded me of a Peter Cook interview.  The oak tree appears to you and I to be a glass of water, set on a shelf high up the wall.  According to MCM, it became an oak tree when he chose to exhibit it as such.  It is not a symbol or a metaphor – it is an oak tree, currently in the form of a glass of water.  It will cease to be an oak tree, if and when MCM decides that it is no longer one.  He isn’t asked what will happen when he dies; will it remain an oak tree (although appearing to be a glass of water) or will it revert?  What if a careless attendant were to spill it and refill the “glass” with water?  Would he know?

Don McCullin

There is a roomful of B&W photographs by McCullin, at the moment; landscapes, rural and industrial, tramps and drinkers in the East End in 1969, GIs and East German police in 60s Berlin.  The landscapes are almost too beautiful, in the sense of composition – a shot along a water-filled ditch, thorn trees lining it, black against an awesome sky; snow-covered fields under a winter sky, on Hadrian’s Wall – the ditch a bit Bela Tarr.  A woman wheels a pram across the shot, slag heaps and chimneys in the distance, soot or coal dust covering everything; despite the open-air setting and the distance, I found this and the other industrial shots oddly “enclosed”, almost claustrophobic – reminded me of that Baltermans photograph of distraught Russian women, finding the bodies of their murdered men on the Russian steppe.

But the tramp photos are the most remarkable; they are covered with dirt, stunned and staring, almost roasted by the open air and hard living.  Two of the faces have to be seen to be believed; they look Shakespeareian.

Dismembered Bodies

I think the room is called this, or something like it.  At Bilbao Guggenheim this summer, a lot of sculptures – Kiki Smith, Robert Gober – could have fit in here.  There is a video by Bonnie Camplin and Paulina Orlowska that I watched several times through; it was a series of cut-outs of two women, dancing to jumpy music and I became hooked on the bit where the black floor seemed to be sucked up into the bottom of the one on the left.  Other artists – John Slezacker’s cut – ups and a wooden piece by Enrico David that looked like cut – outs of the Beatles with dowelling penises thrusting horizontally out.  Also, something that looked like a tall, roughly-made, cardboard guillotine.

Stuart Brisley

A series of photos of a long ago happening in which Brisley lay on the cement ground in a park and revolved, drawing with chalk as he did so.  Then he repeated the action with white paint, then black paint until his body in the photo resembled an oil-drenched corpse, partly dismembered…   Then he jumped in a lake.

Chelsea MA Show

Striking videos by Adam Frank Walker in the film theatre; the first, called “Flat Screen-Hackney” I think, was filmed during the recent riots.  There were striking close-ups of participants, fronting up to the police, taunting them, chucking rocks, carrying off a flat screen.  Film jerky, episodic, occasionally washed out in a blaze of yellow or red.  If he filmed it himself, he must have been at risk – maybe it was a compilation from TV or internet?  Second was “Everyday fucking art” (or maybe “Accidental art”); a snarling, smoking man yelling out of the screen in a Notts or Derbyshire accent, in answer to unprovoking questions from the unseen filmmaker,  Finally, another angry man, apparently a flatmate, threatening to “rip your fucking head off if you do that with the camera again” – or similar words.  I went to Walker’s website to read up on him but I couldn’t understand most of it.

Not nice, but effective – like rappers snarling and poking fingers out of a TV screen at you. The films make you feel first uncomfortable then angry, so that you want to punch back.  Any still from any of the films would be powerful; I thought they linked up with the McCullin tramp photos, especially the everyday artist.

 

Blackpaint

8.09.11