London Art Fair
Some stunning paintings at the above – well worth a visit. Three fantastic Lanyons to start with. all from the early 60s:
This one is “Pony” – didn’t get the other names.
The fair’s on for a while, so I’ll just put in a couple more of my favourites, these ones by the Scots painter Philip Reeves:
Rather like John Golding, I thought – until I saw the large number of Goldings at the fair, none of which were like the Reeves, or indeed, the Golding that was shown at the Tate in the 80th birthday slot a while ago, and that I featured in an earlier blog.
The fair has, as usual, loads of great Alan Davies, Keith Vaughans, blinding prints by Bert Irvin and Anthony Frost and a big Kazua Shiraga; heavy, dense -coloured ropes and splodges of deep paint, no doubt hurled in handfuls at the canvas and swept through with a broom. You might not like it but it’s definitely there. More pictures (Peter Kinley, Bruce McLean, William Gear) next blog.
Ornulf Opdahl
I think it’s spelt right – Norwegian painter of large, dark sea and mountain-scapes, with cracks and shafts of light penetrating the murk, back at Kings Place; they are really impressive when seen in the round on vast white walls. He must get through gallons of Prussian Blue.
The Reconstruction, Angelopoulos
His first film, 1970, set in a bleak mountain village, all stone houses and stone wall mazes – reminded me of Aran Isles – rain, mud, snow, crisp black and white; the murder of a husband, returning from work in Germany, by his wife and her brutal lover. They turn on each other – who was the instigator, who the follower? Wild Greek songs, villagers bent with labour, narrative in series of flashbacks – first in a box set.
Heaven’s Gate – Director’s Cut
Complete contrast, the Cimino film a series of big set pieces, beginning with a spectacular waltz scene and riotous college graduation ceremony and shifting to a murderous war on immigrants waged by hired guns in Wyoming. Kristofferson, Bridges, Hurt, Walken, Huppert… wage bill must have been huge. The “operatic” style I associate more with the Angelopoulos of “Weeping Meadows” period. Maybe a touch of “1900” in there, too.
Mrs.Dalloway
The experimental stuff I’ve been discussing seemed to dwindle away in the latter stages of the book, as Woolf focuses on the decline and suicide of Septimus, the ramblings of Peter Walsh and the bringing together of these strands at Clarissa’s party. I found Walsh’s habit of opening and closing the blade of his pocket knife rather disconcerting. It has, perhaps, a different resonance for those of us who watch Silent Witness, The Fall et al. I’m going to the lighthouse next.
Laurels
Blackpaint
18.01.14
