the heART of it: Love Not Glamour

My Great Uncle was a wise chap. I think once you attain a certain age these pearls of wisdom become much more palatable to the younger generation - they seem like good sense rather than just parental meddling… Not that mine have ever meddled, they’re more in the mould of mistakes are good and if it’s something really bad then rally around and tell everyone else to bugger off. Uncle Phil once told me that Love should not be glamorous. He left it at that. Helpful really until you get to a certain place and perspective in your life when it all becomes clear. If you haven’t got there, you will, if you have, how true is that?!

Everyone needs a eureka moment...

Now my epiphany on this only came this afternoon – at approximately fourteen minutes past two on the way home from the Bank. Luckily for all of us, the art world got there way before I did, and have been trying to get us to see this very fact for years. There are so many images by the great and the good of the artistic community on the simplicity and everday nature of real love, and it’s on these that I intend to witter in a contented manner for a little while. Grand gestures are all very well and good, but artists have been pointing out for years that it is in fact the simple things which fulfil us emotionally, an embrace, a glance, a touch, a smile. These small gestures of intimacy can sustain us much better for their personal nature than ever an extravagance can because at the end of the day any idiot can pay for a nice meal or a piece of jewellery, but it takes one who knows you to remember exactly how you like your tea in the morning or when to give you a hug when you don’t even realise that you really need one.

Mark Chagall, The Lovers. Mixed media

The first stop on this eclectic trip through the last century is once again the artist Marc Quinn, who it has to be said I like rather a lot – he’s gutsy, no afraid to push boundaries, but unlike so many artists out there who go for shock value he’s actually good enough to back up his vision. The Kiss is my favourite of his images because if it’s simplicity – I mean what could be more effortless: two people in an embrace which is passionate and meaningful to them? The total self-absorption of the figures is moving; the pleasure and happiness these two clearly derive from one another is inspirational. There is another subtler message here when you start to really look, and I am going to be fairly blunt about it, Love conquering disability. This piece is really read on two levels – the emotional and the visual. That said, the longer you look the less you see and the more you feel; here is the perfect vision of young love and hope made real by the subjects anchoring in the world of physical handicap.

Marc Quinn, The Kiss, 2002. Marble

Though his somewhat turbulent relationships would tend to suggest to the unknowing spectator that he didn’t know the meaning of the word, Sir Stanley Spencer managed to capture and convey the sacred nature of the quiet moments we find in Love. Whilst there are many beautiful images on the everyday comfort we find in long-standing relationships one of my favourites is a simple pencil drawing of his beloved first wife Hilda and a daughter patting a dog which Stanley himself holds on a lead. There are other paintings which I could talk about, other drawings as well, but for some reason there is something in this small depiction of the family unit which is just perfect. Perhaps it’s because of Hilda and Spencer’s background that I find it so touching - despite difficulties within the marriage, Hilda's was the key role in his emotional life, as much of his work showed. They corresponded regularly, and he continued writing to her even after their divorce in 1937 and her death in 1950. These letters could be over a hundred pages long. As he wrote, 'You still are to me the most revealing person of true essential joy I know.’ There is something simple yet totally fulfilled in the absorption and interaction of the two main characters, a warmth to the touch, a sense of belonging together and tranquillity. Love in Spencer’s world was both passionate and quiet, when he followed the glamour of it he was nearly ruined, but the simple side of it was his constant companion and solace for the rest of his life.

Sir Stanley Spencer, Family Group, 1939. Pencil on Paper

When I was little (which if you believe my +1 I still am) my father bought me a poem called Hugs. It hung on a beam by my bed for years and I can still recall the majority of it to this day. Now I happen to be a bit of a tactile person - and by bit I mean utterly, irretrievably touchy feely – and I love a good hug. There’s something about them which can be intensely personal for an act which is essentially everyday; it’s the emotion which you imbue them with which makes them important parts of relationships and a way to convey your Love for another person. Nan Goldin pays this simple embrace homage in her seminal work The Hug. From what I can see there is nothing big or impressive about what is shown here, except maybe the hair, but that is the beauty of it. A hug, to the right minded person, shuts out the world, erases stress, conveys emotion, cheers you up and occasionally makes your heart skip a beat.

Nan Goldin, The Hug, 1980. Photograph

Thus far I’ve babbled on about Love in a relationship (whether fleeting or long term), but what about Love between family or friends? Well here the same principle of simplicity applies. I have several close friends, and by close I mean really close - being an only child elevates them to pretty much family. Now, we’ve been through a lot together over the years and there is a bond there which is for all intents and purposes is what I recognise to be Love; it has grown stronger through adversity, pain, laugher and many different relationships but remain constant and comforting. 

Against the world, your friends will always stand beside you...

That is the other things which artists remind us of in talking about relationship and the feelings they evoke; Love can grow from the most unlikely situations. David Hockney painted We Two Boys Together Clinging in 1961 before homosexuality was decriminalized and as such allows us to read his piece in two ways. The first directly refers to what I was saying about Love between friends, as the title is taken from Walt Whitman’s poem of the same name and discusses the bonds between friends and how unshakable they are. The second is still about Love in adversity and comes directly from the socio-historic context of the time it was painted.  The two protagonists in this painting are seen exchanging a passionate embrace and kiss in front of a lavatory wall covered in graffiti. The painting’s child-like lines and bright pinks and blues lend the embracing figures a vivacity to match that of the poem, in spite of the otherwise dreary greys of the background, suggestive of passion in the midst of somewhat illicit circumstances. The childlike nature of it also lends something in terms of the naivety of Love and a belief (exactly like a child) that everything will be fine.

David Hockney, We Two Boys Together Clinging, 1961. Oil on Board

Love it would seem is as complex as we choose to make it. We can strive for the ideal, we can find ourselves immersed in the darker aspects of it or we can find happiness in the simple pleasures it bring to us. Art is there for whatever version of this emotion we decide we wish to see, and like Love itself, it shifts and changes, challenging our perceptions and comforting us by turn. It’s been kind of fascinating to see the differences in interpretation of this subject, and it’s interesting the conversations it has thrown up and controversies it has reignited between my nearest and dearest. For me, well it’s a private thing as all true matters of the heart are. That said I can safely say I’ll be following some sage advice from one who knew infinitely better than myself…

the heART of it: The World Without Disney

So we’ve seen classical portrayals of Love in the previous post – I must admit to going slightly gooey over the whole thing, much to my +1’s disgust which lead to far too much ribbing on his part – but what do we mean by Love in the modern sense? The classic imagery is all romance, chivalry and gratuitous nudity, but is there still some semblance of this ideology in contemporary pieces? 

Barnaby Furnas, Romeo and Juliet #4, 2011.  Water dispersed pigments, dye, colored pencil, seral transfer and acrylic on linen. Traditional subjects may remain in contemporary works, but there is definitely a  difference in the scenes depicted - less about falling in Love, more about the consequences of that somewhat simple act.

I think it’s fair to say attitudes have changed somewhat. It seems to me that declarations of Love are now shown through the giving of a spare key, the dividing of the sock drawer (the romance in this act is almost palpable), and splitting the bill over dinner. An old university argument which was discussed somewhat tipsily (understatement) between my group of friends, and I hasten to add it was both guys and girls, was whether Disney has given generation of women and men a totally distorted idea of what Love is. Does Love as I’d like to see it still have a place in the modern world or should it be confined to celluloid and digital space as a sentimental museum piece?

Roy Lichtenstein, Hopeless, 1963. Oil on Canvas. The juxtaposition of Pop colouration and  dark subject matter is something which Lichtenstein favoured again and again in his work.

As always I can only speak from experience. I was mulling this over the other morning whilst sipping a big mug of hot chocolate and watching the world slide by - it’s amazing the things that come to you when you’re being stood-up for a breakfast meeting with The Architect - and I came to the conclusion that what we want from Love has altered, just as what we want from our relationships has altered. I was reminded of something my fabulous and feisty friend Anna said over lunch a few months ago: we’re no longer looking for (in) dependence with our other respective other halves; we’re actually looking for co-dependence. Despite the sometimes overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Love is still here (how else would Richard Curtis make any money?) but it has become much subtler, much more equal and much more open.

Banksy, Hope. Aerosol paint. 

This well-rounded epiphany reached, I began to dwell (not surprisingly under the circumstances) on the negatives as well as the positives. Is this subtlety what modern artists crave for their representations of Love? Well, the reaction is pretty bi-polar: we have the good and, frankly, the ugly. In fact the reaction of some modern artists toward ‘Love’ is so extreme we end up discussing it as either an absence, or worse, a perversion of the term and all we hope it stands for.

Francis Bacon, Triptych May-June 1973, 1973. Oil on Canvas. This portrait about the death of George is beautiful in it's poignancy and tragedy. It shows the grief which Love brings and is a firm part of the newer more honest depictions of all sides of love in modern society.

The darker side of this somewhat schizophrenic personality has found outlets through a number of different artists over the past 60 years. Some notable modern painterly contributors include Tracey Emin, Katharina Fritsch, Jean Jacques Lebel and big-hitters like Freud and Bacon. Their images of Love in all its darkness and self-obsession are some of the most iconic ever produced; from Emin’s comments on rape, to Freud’s obsessive rapaciousness to Bacon’s emotional trauma at the loss of Love. They all have an important voice to add to discussions of contemporary portrayals of darker forms Love. I’m not the biggest fan of Emin – though one cannot fail to recognise her contribution to the art scene – and her work seems more to be about shock value than actual skill. That said, her work is undeniably painful and perfectly encapsulates this new found critique of human relationships which has blossomed in the wake of the sexual revolution and the more open nature of modern society.

Tracy Emin, More Nothingness, 2009. Ink on Paper

One of my favourite modern sculptors is Marc Quinn, whose early place in the art world was cemented due to his position in the YBA group back in the late 1980’s, and his work on relationships and pre-conceptions in society fits into both positive and negative discussion of the way in which Love is shown in art. For arguments sake I’m going to put this in the negatives, not because I have a problem with it, but simply due to public conceptions about relationships and showing issues which are slightly taboo. In his piece The Kiss Quinn depicts an embracing couple, and at cursory glance there is nothing new to this, but when one looks closer both man and woman are handicapped in some way. Even today, society shies away from acknowledging deformity, whether from birth or from amputation, and by and large this social group is invisible, particularly in art. To be confronted therefore with a life-size statue of two disabled people passionately embracing has been deemed by many narrow minded people as being grotesque and wrong. In doing this, the deformed character of society is shown clearly; judgmental, cruel, narrow minded, dismissive, violent. The image is overwhelmingly positive (and I’ll talk more about it next week) but it is what it shows of Love in our wider society is much darker and more destructive.

Marc Quinn, The Kiss, 2002. Marble

The need to depict Love in all its glorious agony, would therefore seem to be the preoccupation of modern artists. The chivalry and romance seems to have been absorbed by the desire to shock us to the core, to cleanse the artists themselves of grief and to make Love real rather than imagined. Now, I refuse to believe this is the case, and by refuse I mean I shall throw an epic wobbly and start ranting at anyone and everyone who will listen to me that this is simply not the case. Of course there is darkness, but happiness is not created in a vacuum; if it was it would have no greater meaning than a word and only a vague feeling of what it meant to be content. You cannot have love without grief, love without pain or love without heartbreak. It seems therefore dear readers, that the fact that there is a deluge of the dark proves that there is also an abundance of light around us…

the heART of it: Oldies But Goodies

Every generation likes to think it's the first to discover anything new. I swear that if there wasn’t a hell of a lot of past precedent some bright spark would claim they’d invented the wheel. When it comes to art, and shock value, many artists love the thought that they’re producing the most scandalous and radical work ever. It is important to remember though that what is now considered tame and classical and scholarly, was at one point deemed to be shocking and tawdry, especially when religion weighed ponderously into the debate to dole out a portion of judgement on what was acceptable.

Diego Velasquez, The Toilet of Venus (1647-51). Oil on Canvas. This image is first recorded in June 1651, and in order to avoid censure by the Spanish Inquisition it is presumed that the image was displayed in private. It is amazing to think how attitudes have change, but at the same time in so many places they have not altered at all...

Now I’m not about to claim that modern and contemporary work produced depicting Love is not outrageous and drastic, particularly considering that popular feeling toward sexuality and its depiction has shifted radically in the last fifty or so years. It is clear though, that the complexity and intensity of depicting Love has been something of a pre-occupation for the Art world for centuries. We can reach all the way back to the ancient civilizations of the world for the very first examples. Not quite such a modern concept after all…

Wall relief from the tomb of Seti I.

So, I could make this seriously Old School in outlook, but that would be somewhat dull in my opinion, so let’s jump forward a millennia or two. Aphrodite, or Venus if we’re going to be Roman about it, is one of the most iconic images when we start talking, writing or thinking about Love. Her form and her embodiment of Love and Beauty have captivated the great and the good of the last 500 years. From censure during the Spanish Inquisition with the likes of Velázquez, to intimate ideas of Love conquering all with Botticelli they were all utterly transported by ideas of Love.

Sandro Botticelli, Venus and Mars (1485). 

One of my favourite images from this period is by Correggio and dates to roughly 1525. This is a veritable cornucopia of classical Love imagery: To my romantic and (frankly) sentimental nature there’s more here than just a beautifully constructed and executed image; I see elements of hope, family and tenderness. As Venus emerges from the darkened landscape into the light we are shown an image of how life can be, it is aspirational as well as inspirational – exactly as Love ought to be. For me, the particularly touching element is the interaction of Mercury and Cupid; their absorption, watched over by Venus, is so moving. Out of the dark, out of despair and out of the cold, Love has emerged bringing light and warmth and infinite possibilities for happiness. In the final analysis, what is Love if not hope?

Antonio Correggio, Venus with Mercury and Cupid (1525).  Oil on Canvas

Now I’m not going to lie about this – I never particularly liked Dante Gabriel Rossetti. I was forced, and I mean forced, to study his sister Christina at school and the thought still makes me shudder – someone needed to hold that woman down and feed her chocolate until she perked up… Age has bought a modicum of wisdom and perspective though, and I now make a conscious effort not to tar brother and sister with the same brush. Indeed it would be impossible to talk about time-honoured depictions of Love without bringing in the Pre-Raphaelites. I could jabber, as could a great many people, at length about the romanticized images of Love which are presented in the work of this group of men, but I believe my favourite image is a much more honest and infinitely less well-known piece which works perfectly with the idea of true Love rather than the ideal.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Beata Beatrix (1864-70). Oil on Canvas.  This is a much  more typical example of Rossetti's idealised portrayal of Love and the premature death of Beatrix. It is believed that this image is a memorial to Rossetti's wife Elizabeth, with the ghostly presence of himself on the right and Love on the left.

Found was a piece created by Rossetti which can be read in a number of different ways depending on your personal feelings. It remained unfinished at his death and is his only treatment of a contemporary subject in oil; he returned to it many times during his life, but much like the story it depicts remained unrequited, even to him. I find it a fascinating subject, because it deals with an aspect of Love which is nearly impossible to render accurately – that step into the unknown.  Pain is as much a part of Love as happiness; it is a necessary evil and divides the strong from the weak in how we deal with it. In this case, one can sympathise with the Drover who has just come across his lost love wandering the streets of London as a prostitute, the fear and uncertainty of the woman in how she should react, the hope for both of them if they can overcome their past mistakes which lead them to this place; the fear of their possible future together combines with the happiness of their possible future. In short, it is as complex as the emotion is depicts, it leaves one gasping for air, confused and enlightened in equal measure.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Found (unfinished). Oil on Canvas.

All of the depictions of Love which are detailed here are what I would term slightly old-fashioned. Now I personally love a little vintage in my life, so I don’t see that as a bad thing in any way. On the contrary, it is amazing the arrogance of youth that we feel we have nothing to learn from what has gone before, especially in matters of the heart. My only issue with tradition is that sometimes it holds us back – much like convention in that respect – and stops us pursuing the path we want. If science is right and there is no life after this, then we cannot take our emotions with us, they die here with us, and all we have left is the memory of our actions. I suggest each and every one of us makes them count. Luckily, the artists of today are not bound or hampered, and their depictions of love in the modern world are as eye-opening, and often inspiring, as those which have gone before.

the heART of it: An Introduction

Love...

A lifetime of memories, hundreds of adventures,  countless new horizons and one Love who is worth all of it

Four little letters. Statement, question, accusation, wish? However you take the Love in your life, this one word can have the most far reaching and life changing of affects. Whether we like it or not, the world seems to revolve around this one little emotion. Wars (if we believe in the likes of Anthony and Cleopatra and Paris and Helen) have been fought for it, monuments have been erected to the longevity and eternal nature of it, plays have been written chronicling it and the English language has been butchered by the music industry to do it justice. For those in it, those looking for it, and those futilely trying to hide from it, Love is everywhere.

The Love/Hate thing... I remember when a boy pushing a girl over meant that he liked her. Weird how these playground antics carry over to bundling in the snow at the age of 28

Now before you all reach for the emergency chord to bail out of some utterly cringe worthy post, I am not taking about me and my +1. Whilst we’re perfectly content in our little rose-tinted bubble of affectionate bickering and annoying each other, this discussion of the heart goes way beyond both he and I. Forty years of unrequited, fought for, and finally accepted and acknowledged Love is something which not many of us will ever experience. When you come across it though, you can’t help but pay homage to it.

My great uncle was 88 and he was in love with the same woman for 40 years. They never lived together, and they never married because he was too shy to ask her for her hand. Instead they travelled the world, saw so many new horizons and experienced everything they possibly could. He died last week. She is heartbroken.

"Grief is the price we pay for Love"

It is to these two wonderful people that the next couple of posts are dedicated. I don’t believe that words can ever do justice to this emotion and what it feels like when it is snatched from us. That said, some of the most poignant and truthful things written about Love are recorded in the shadow of death. Morbidly enough, one of my favourite sentiments about Love comes from a headstone, it reads: Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.

 "Death is a challenge. 

It tells us not to waste time...it tells us to 

tell each other right now that we love each other."
Leo Buscaglia

When words fail though, and that magic cup of tea (or glass of champagne if it's a really special occasion!) simply can’t help you express your feelings, art can sometimes find the right path to tread. So much of what we feel as people travelling through this world is based around or linked to Love in some way; to say there’s a lot of subject matter would be an understatement. Add to that the ways in which attitudes to the depiction of Love have changed over the years and suddenly what you can talk about grows exponentially.

Unimaginable highs and the loneliest of lows, Love can throw them all our way, but with so much scope for subject matter, for artists, the sky is the limit.

 Now we all know I can witter about most things until the cows come home, go to bed and get up the next morning, but I promise I’ll keep these entries palatable and interesting, beginning with depictions of the Classics. Oh yes, we’re going old school!

In the Company of Memories

So I may have been premature with my gushing about Spring. In fact, I’m inclined to believe the weather is doing this deliberately; you really can’t rely on some meteorological phenomena to remain constant in behaviour. So it was with some trepidation that I peeked out at the weather the other morning, and promptly decided the best place to remain was under the duvet, and not in the freezing and frankly Dickensian looking morning. Unfortunately it was not to be, and I cursed loudly and in a very hyperbolic and passionate way that Spring was clearly not playing as I plunged into the streets of the capital for my meeting.

Houses of Parliament on a misty morning

It really is amazing how certain thoughts intrude as you’re pottering along. There is something about a grey day in London which always puts me in a reflective mood. There are ghost here, they peer out at us from dank, cobbled passages and soar over us in the cold and crisp air. Memories of lost friends, lost loves and lost beauty linger amidst the lofty glass towers, the traffic and the dust of this city, waiting to be seen and acknowledged again, waiting in vain it seems for the city to slow down enough for us to see one another.

St. Helen's, Bishopsgate - i love the unexpected pockets of history amongst the modern day, turn a corner and you're a millions miles away from the hustle and bustle of the city streets as we know them

That day I walked from Old Street to Green Park, then back along past Saint Paul’s and through to Moorgate before turning my feet home. I love walking in London, it’s such a refreshing change from the Tubes and Buses and it gives me time to think. My somewhat contemplative disposition was enhance by the weather and a certain nostalgia for times past, and it got me to pondering why it is that in a city which is so full of times past, it seems that it's the next big thing we’re always looking toward – after all, knowing where we’ve been must surely inform where we’re going to?

"History is the witness that testifies to the passing of time; it illumines reality, vitalizes memory, provides guidance in daily life and brings us tidings of antiquity." Cicero, Pro Publio Sestio

Now, whilst this is perhaps no bad thing for the majority, being a student of history firstly, and art secondly, it really got me down – to the extent that I was starting to get somewhat distressed at our short-term, progressive view point. Geographically stumped as to my exact location, I was wandering (slightly) lost in a forest of glass and concrete towers, when suddenly I came across the most wonderful building which stopped me in my tracks. It’s funny how a small thing can have such a dramatic effect on ones subconscious, but this one really did – the St. Albans Church Tower – is what I would describe as a beacon in the dark, and it reminded me that there are some places in this city where the past and present merge with an image of the future to create something unique, something beautiful and something ineffably hopeful…

St. Albans Church, Wood Street - a welcome diamond in the rough

I’m putting it down to the Dickensian murk shrouding my brain – others may call it one of my blonde moments – but when I thought about it that day, and subsequently, there are many example of ghosts being made flash and blood amongst us. My favourite incarnation has to be the Sir John Soane’s Museum, Lincoln Inn Fields - a stone’s throw from the hustle and bustle of High Holborn. Soane (1753 – 1837) designed the house to live in, but also as a setting for his antiquities and his works of art. After the death of his wife (1815), he lived there alone, constantly adding to and rearranging his collections. It is the perfect place to spend an afternoon, a window onto the past enhanced by the fact that the museum is a house, a home, making it feel as if you have literally stepped back two hundred years, the hum of the modern world hushed to a mere memory.

Sir John Soane's Museum - the proverbial Aladdin's Cave, and a haven for getting away from it all

 Artistically though are there similar moments where past and present collide? Do we still yearn to see those men and women who inspired modern masters, or are they too dispatched to the realm of memory, languishing in museums populated by other ghosts? Shakespeare (brainy bard that he was) once wrote that “what is past is prologue”, and so it seems to me that to ignore the subtlety of past artists in favour of all the showmanship of today would be a great tragedy. Luckily the artistic community still recognizes the contribution of those who have held brushes before them; they recognize the value of images like Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, Jan Vermeer’s Girl with the Pearl Earring and Claude Monet’s famous Water Lilies series – if only grudgingly at times. Having been to the Da Vinci exhibition at the National Gallery, I have witnessed first hand the passion we still hold these artists in, and whilst they may not be seen in the most cutting edge of galleries, they are still a part of modern culture, if only as a footnote to the contemporary.

Jan Vermeer, Girl with the Pearl Earring, 1665. Oil on Canvas.

Whilst I guess in the end we’re all ghosts in this great metropolis – passing through, leaving memories for those who remember us and just another empty space for those who don’t – there seem to be some places where we can immerse ourselves in these spirits of bygone eras. Whether it’s walking through the streets or sitting quietly in a museum, I would council us to keep the company of these memoirs every now and again – not at the expense of the present you understand, but as a silent companion to it every once in a while.

Pablo Picasso, James Bond and Some Art Thievery...

What does one do with a day off in London? In my case it involves a little shopping, a food trip to Selfridges and going to the new Tate exhibition with my lovely +1. I’d like to interject here and say that I was in no way dragging him along with me, but considering for our second date he took me to see Da Vinci it seemed fair to repay the favour. My turn came in the form of Picasso.

Pablo Picasso, Weeping Woman, 1937. Oil on Canvas

Now, don’t ask me why I feel this is true, but every now and again I manage to link two entirely different cultural figures together. In this case, James Bond and Picasso – weird huh? I don’t know whether Picasso was a fan of a good martini like Mr Bond, in fact I believe he preferred Absinthe, but they do share one common factor – the power of their names. The mere whisper of either conjures images of exotic places, beautiful women and decadent lifestyles. Along with Bond, whose character and image will be forever linked to things like an Aston Martin, a smoking gun and some great tailoring, Picasso too has some strong associations like Post-Impressionism, political iconography (in the shape of his piece Guernica) and holding the (somewhat dubious) honour of having created some of the most expensive artworks in the world…

Pablo Picasso, Nude, Green Leaves and Bust,1932. Oil on Canvas At 66m, this Picasso is renowned for being the most expensive painting of his ever sold. Can we ever forget the price tag though and enjoy it as an image?

Personally though, before we pottered down to the Tate Britain to see the new Picasso and Modern British Art show, I have to honestly say I wasn’t that enamoured of the great man. Like Bond before the Daniel Craig reinvention, I felt that things had become a little samey. I knew a lot of the images, I knew a little of the man, and I was kind of ambivalent to the dizzy heights of value that his pieces seem to inspire. The thing that has always got up my nose about Picasso, is that even his minor (and I’m not about to sugar coat it - bad) works have taken pride of place in museums over much better works by ‘less significant’ artists. So I know that it’s Picasso, but to me it would be better to have great work on show to inspire those who come to see art, rather than bad pieces which could irrevocably damage someone’s perspective. I mean, hello? A bad painting isn’t made better by having a famous name attached to it, in fact it’s often rendered worse…

Pablo Picasso, Nude Woman in Red Armchair, 1932. Oil on Canvas. Not one of my favourite images, but in the flesh it was absolutely stunning...

Okay, rant over… just. So what did we find when we stepped through those double doors into the exhibition? Well, we discovered that my +1 believes that jacking in banking and becoming an international art thief would be a good idea, that after all my misgivings I do really enjoy Picasso, and that both of us actively dislike crowds. The visual mixing of muse (Picasso) and artists whom he inspired created one of the most visually stimulating exhibitions I’ve seen at the Tate in a while. The perspective which the combination gives, not only to Picasso but to the British artists whose work is exhibited there, is the most interesting part – for the geeky such as myself – and the juxtaposition of the different painters provides a optical feast as well as an intellectual one.

This juxtaposition of 1933 (coin and musical instruments) by Ben Nicholson (top right) and Picasso's Guitar, Compote Dish and Grapes (right) from 1924 shows the influence the abstract forms used by the Spanish master (bottom right) had on his British near-contemporary.

So what were the highlights? Well, it entirely depends on what you like in your paintings and sculpture. For me I enjoyed the room entitled Picasso in Britain 1937-39, primarily for the political and social issues which it dealt with. Guernica was a piece which was commissioned for the Spanish Pavillion at the Paris Exhibition of 1937 and is Picasso’s most political artwork. It deals with the Nazi bombing of the Basque town of Guernica in April 1937, and is held as a world-renowned memorial to the civilian suffering and horrendous loss of life. For me it demonstrates a more serious side of Picasso as an artist, the fact that he could capture so vividly the emotional and physical spectrum of such a catastrophe, should give all those who write him off as being just a name pause for thought.

Pablo Picasso, Guernica, 1937. Mural

I was also particularly partial to the Francis Bacon and Picasso room. Now I love Bacon’s Three Studies for Figures at the Base of the Crucifixtion and have to say that besides Graham Sutherland’s Crucifixtion and Picasso’s Nude Woman in Red Armchair that is definitely the other one I would ask my newly thieving other half to procure for me. Whilst there are definite parallels between Bacon and Picasso, to me it wasn’t the influence of Picasso which made this work interesting, it was seeing it in the context of another surrealist artist. Now I’m not about to deny Bacon doesn’t disturb me somewhat, but now I realise that this was only in isolation – studying the work beside that of Picasso who also favoured extended bodies and polyp-like heads reminded me of something which Bacon said of his own work when he admitted that he saw the scene as "a magnificent armature on which you can hang all types of feeling and sensation". I can now look at Bacon’s contribution and see that it was about the way in which we as humans experience the world around us; a physical depiction of an emotional expression.

Francis Bacon, Three Studies for Figures at the Base of the Crucifixtion, 1944. Oil on Board

Is it worth it? Of course it is. Even if like me Picasso still comes across somewhat of a rogue and an arrogant master of paint, there really is no doubt that this is a brilliant feast for the art lover. Picasso was a  brilliant painter, and those who hang beside him are his equal in every way. For those who aren't art lovers, well, save your pennies and enjoy a dry martini instead…

The Art of Smoke

Andre Derain, London Bridge (1906). Oil on Canvas. Derain was a leading exponent of Fauvism, but in early 1908 he destroyed most of his work to concentrate on tightly constructed landscape paintings, which were a subtle investigation of the work of Cézanne.

There is something in the air today in London… A bitter winter is lessening its claw-like grip on this beautiful city and there is a lightening of mood. The perpetual grey of the buildings have softened to dove, pewter and pearl, the people seem to smile more and the constant wind which has been howling through the streets of the City since November is tamed for a moment. I’m not fooled into believing for a moment that this is the first day of spring – there have been too many false starts already for that to be the case - but there is definitely something stirring out there which speaks of long sunny days, warm pavements and shady parks to be enjoyed sooner rather than later.

David Bomberg, The River and Saint Paul's (1937). Oil on Millboard. Bomberg was the one of the most audacious painters of his generation at the Slade, and is predominently known for his angular, at times violent, figurative images. This painting dates to a period of his life which was a direct reaction against the mechanisation of war and his experiences in WWI, leading to a more humanising and rounded period of painting.

So maybe I’m going a little over the top. I can say though, that sitting at a little Vietnamese café on Whitecross Street yesterday afternoon, replaying some banter my +1 and I had enjoyed before he scooted back to work and soaking up the sun, I genuinely couldn’t have been happier. I’ve had a love affair with this city since I was tiny, and watching the crowds of students, be-suited bankers and tourists mingling amongst the stalls and vans selling all manner of food in a shabby chic east-end street, I felt utterly content.  

William Hogarth, Beer Lane (1750). The hubbub of humanity which so characterises this extraordinary metropolis was a favourite subject for Hogarth, who made his name capturing real people and real life rather than the idealised aristocracy that was the norm for the time...

London is a city which inspires those who really see it; there is tremendous beauty in it. Going from the graceful buildings to the landscaped gardens and parks, the small street markets and the sunsets, moments of perfection can be found everywhere. As with so much in our lives, it is through the brush or lens of artists that we can see this most clearly. They filter out what we don’t want to see and give us a shining vision of a city, airbrushed and flawless in some cases, gritty and more real in others but always true. Okay, so this may be only in the most ineffable and romantic of senses , but given my current sunny disposition I’m running with it.

CRW Nevinson, Amongst the Nerves of the World (1930). Oil on Canvas. There is a certain gritty glamour to London at times, and this image by Richard Nevinson is a perfect example of just that. The combination of architecture and futurism makes for a striking and and accurate impression of the London streets.

Some of my favourite images of London are produced by the impressionists and they definitely fit my present feelings about this city. Walking over Waterloo Bridge a few evenings ago on my way to dinner, I was mulling over Monet (as one does) and I genuinely believe that his practice of creating works of personal perception of place and our emotional responses to them, is what resounds most strongly with me when I think of this city. His images capture that fleeting, serene moment that washes over us if we take just a moment to appreciate the combination of nature and humanity which surrounds us all on a daily basis. Some of my personal favourites are sunsets and sunrises around the Thames, where there is a sense of timelessness and transience in the rising mist, burbling waters and beautiful architecture…

Claude Monet, House of Parliament, London, Sun Breaking Through the Fog (1904). Oil on Canvas.

It seems that the views of London, especially those around the river have always fascinated artists. One of my favourite all time artists is Turner – his pieces are just utterly lustworthy – and his image of the Thames (below) is one of those understated depictions which is so easy to overlook, but draws you in a holds you when you really start to look at it. So often it seems that people are enticed toward statements and showmanship, and they forget that the most beautiful of creations can be the most subtle. This image of the city would be utterly lost next to the likes of Andre Derain, but on its own, the delicate depths and faint forms emerge as they in do in reality from the mists which haunt the river banks…

JMW Turner, The Thames Above Waterloo Bridge (1830-35). Oil on Canvas.This unfinished painting takes us to the heart of the smoky commercial capital which, though a Londoner by birth and resident for most of his life, Turner usually preferred to depict from a distance. 

Coming from a sleepy, country back water (beautiful and unpopulated as it is) I love being in the heart of things and one of my favourite places for that was the West End… I fondly remember mis-spent afternoons quaffing wine in Covent Garden or wandering the streets of Soho before diving into the melee of Piccadilly Circus to be whisked off somewhere fabulous for tea. Whilst I now prefer the East End for quaffing and people watching, the West of London still holds a certain thrill for me to wander through. One of my favourite images of the area is Piccadilly Circus by L.S. Lowry; it just captures the hustle and bustle of W1 perfectly. It may not be the prettiest of places to immortalise in paint, but you cannot escape the fact that it is one of the most iconic images of London known around the world, and Lowry has captured it sympathetically, simply (as is his great skill) and somehow at the same moment utterly accurately.

L. S. Lowry, Piccadilly Circus, London (1960). Oil on Canvas.

So whilst spring may be a little way off yet, and the banking fraternity are eagerly awaiting Tit Monday, London it seems is as beautiful as ever, we all just need a moment to see it… For those who can’t though, well, that’s what these artists did best, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind sharing it.

Frank Auerbach, Mornington Cresecent - Summer Morning (1991). Oil on Canvas. Even the most everday sights can be rendered beautiful...