Robert Hughes' Strange Memoir

This would have to be one of the strangest books I’ve ever read, which might explain why I couldn’t find it on the inter library loan system.  The strangeness is highlighted by the fact that the story ends in 1970 when Hughes jets off to the US to become art critic for Time Magazine.  One would have thought that 513 pages would have been sufficient to cover his entire life, rich and varied as it was, but no.  Perhaps there was meant to be a second edition, although he completed this one six years before his death.

Robert Hughes (The Guardian)

Those who remember the Australian art critic and writer Robert Hughes (1938 - 2012) will recognize the irony in the title “Robert Hughes - Things I Didn’t Know”. He was known for his forthright, even rambunctious views on just about everything.  But the book begins with a harrowing account of his near fatal car crash in the north of Western Australia in 1999.  It seems we had a different Robert Hughes, physically and in other respects after that episode. 

He had a Catholic upbringing and was educated at a strict Jesuit boarding school. For mine, he banters on for far too long about his early life.  His distant father whom he clearly idolised was a World War One fighter pilot and later became a solicitor before dying when Robert was only 12.  Hughes was the youngest of four by far and his father’s death affected him greatly.  Although he rambles on and on about his father’s wartime experiences, Hughes does come up with some interesting anecdotes.  Such as Allied high command’s point blank refusal to issue its pilots with parachutes, for the dubious reason that such safety devices would reduce the fighting spirit of the pilots and give them an easy way out.  “This appalling callousness condemned many pilots to be roasted alive, thousands of feet in the air, as their stricken little planes spiraled helplessly to earth…”  Apparently, some pilots chose to simply bail out without parachutes - who could blame them.

Riverview St Ignatius College, Sydney

The eloquence of Hughes’ writing is evident in his summation of the futility of WW1 and the contrast to the objectives of WW2.  “Hitler had to be stopped, and  his defeat did save the human race from unimaginably worse  slaughters.  No such historical necessity excused the deaths of millions of boys in 1914-18.  Because of the killing by a Serbian terrorist of an Austrian archduke whose life wasn’t worth a jackeroo’s finger, because of the ineptitude of Europe’s civil and military leaders and the indifference of old men (including British Prime Minister Lloyd George - I believe) to the fate of the young, they were sucked into the immense vortex of the most vilely useless mass conflict in modern history…” 

Hughes found life in the Jesuit boarding school, Riverview in Sydney, repressive and beatings were common.  However he heaps great praise on Father Wallace who was the headmaster and who allowed Hughes access to books that were outside the limited curriculum of the college.  Father Wallace paved the way to Hughes becoming a fully articulate writer.

As Hughes tells the story, he attained the role of art critic almost by accident.  His predecessor at The Observer in Sydney was sacked after being critical of an exhibition which, as it turned out, he hadn’t seen.  Hughes was an illustrator for the magazine and that was good enough for the editor, the celebrated social commentator Donald Horne.  But as Hughes explained, there was very little art in Australia in the late 1950’s and early ‘60s to be critiquing.  He also briefly wrote criticism for, and contributed cartoons to The Mirror, until Rupert Murdoch took it over and slashed his wages.

Ian Fairweather on Bribie Island c 1966 (Art Gallery of New South Wales)

One of his more amusing anecdotes involved a trip with the artist Jon Molvig to visit the “sage of Bribie Island”, Ian Fairweather.  The trip was hair raising enough due to Molvig’s heavy drinking, but upon arrival they discovered Fairweather in a disheveled state, his front teeth were missing, one foot was wrapped in rags after he’d been bitten by a goanna and he was living in leaky Balinese huts.  It was obvious to Hughes and Molvig that the foot was gangrenous and they had to almost drag him to the mainland for treatment. 

So appalled was Fairweather’s Sydney dealer with the state of his paintings, she sent him a roll of the finest Belgian flax canvas which would have cost a fortune.  Fairweather used the canvas to plug holes in his hut and went on painting on damp cardboard with house paint.

Hughes never felt comfortable in the Australia of his youth.  He disliked the bush and the beach - inside a house, or even better a cafe seemed to be his natural habitat.  Eventually he realised that he had to head off overseas.   He left for Europe in 1964. 

Thanks to contacts he developed with the likes of renowned Australian author Alan Moorehead and art historian Herbert Read, Hughes began his writing career.  He is particularly indebted to Moorehead, having spent some time living with him and his wife in Italy.  He writes at great length about the impact Italian culture had on him (particularly the gardens of Bomarzo), which he was able to enjoy before these sites were “wrecked” by tourism.  But he believes that his years in central Italy, being exposed to great religious art, had transformed him from a guilt ridden, young ex-catholic who was haunted by the critical gaze of strongly catholic family into a relatively guilt free agnostic - more at ease with the world. 

So he left for London and soon found work there, contributing to the Sunday Times and later the Sunday Telegraph.  He was scathing of the youth underground of the sixties in London which he claimed was based on spontaneous  hedonism, the joy of marijuana, spontaneous and uncommitted sex, and culturally illiterate, ignorant of most things older than itself.  And it was within this milieu that Hughes met his future wife, Danne Emerson.

Danne Emerson (xwhos.com)

The marriage was a disaster.  Emerson was also an expat Australian with a Catholic upbringing. Shortly after the birth of their son Danton, Danne announced that she was going to ‘find her own fucks’ and suggested the Hughes do the same.  “If there was ever a misalliance between two emotionally hypercharged and wolfishly immature people. It was our marriage.  I was as unsuited to her as she was to me.  I could no more fulfull or even predict her needs than she could mine.” 

He blames his Catholic upbringing for lacking the courage to end the marriage, at least until 1981.  He said it was like being trapped in the hull of an upturned boat, running out of oxygen yet lacking the courage to dive deeper and escape to the surface.  He claims she contracted the clap from Jimi Hendrix before passing it on to him.  But Hughes’ own track record wasn’t spotless and this was another reason for his reluctance to file for divorce - fear that Danton might become a ward of the courts. 

He is scathing of Brett Whiteley who, he suspected, introduced Danne to harder drugs which was the final nail in the marriage coffin.  He found a drug-free Whiteley to be delightful company but “The shame of addiction…is apt to make junkies into missionaries.  They like, and need, to drag others down with them.  Such aggression compensates for their own weakness and dependency with drugs.” 

Hughes describes Whiteley as a cultural mascot for the semi-cultivated, a disciple (supposedly) of Zen Buddhism who overdosed in a lonely motel room south of Sydney.  Danton died by suicide in 2001 with Hughes once claiming that they hardly knew one another.  Danne died in 2003 from a brain tumor.

The Interior of the Basilica of Santa Croce, Florence (The Guardian)

One of the most significant experiences of Hughes’ life was when he reported on the devastating Florence floods of November 1966 for BBC2.  The flood laid waste to much of the rich cultural heritage of Florence and imbued in Hughes an even greater reverence for art of the past and an antipathy for those of the avant-garde who regard the past as repressive and a dead weight that ‘new’ art had to shake off.  He acknowledges that culture does change but the idea that it can reinvent itself, like a snake shedding its skin is naïve.  He is regarded by some as a cultural conservative. 

Perhaps it was his enquiring, encyclopedic mind that prevented Hughes from reigning in his story to one volume, but it’s worth a read nevertheless.

The Salvator Mundi - Art World Insanity

I’ve heard of rampant inflation, but this is insane.  How can a painting explode in value from $1175 in 2005 to $450 million in the space of 12 years?  It’s a story of greed and power that has captivated many in the art world including critic Ben Lewis, who wrote a book on the subject called “The Last Leonardo - The Secret Lives of the World’s Most Expensive Painting”.  It’s basically a biography of a painting.  A feature length documentary has also been produced on the subject. 

The painting in question is ‘Salvator Mundi’, thought to have been the work of Leonardo da Vinci.  Or is it?  Concerns over the authenticity of the painting revolve around a number of areas - including the state it was in after centuries of overpainting was removed during a recent restoration.  It’s thought that such is the extent of the restoration that little of it now bears the hand of the master.

Salvator Mundi, c.1500, Oil on board, 65.6 cm x 45.4 cm

Another concern about the painting’s authenticity relates to its provenance.  In his book, Lewis writes of the limitations that investigations into the provenance of paintings produced prior to the 19th Century can have.  “The result is that provenance histories for works of art from before the 19th century are frequently assembled from a range of probabilities, which reinforce each other. Such structures can be precarious, wobbling between the likely and the hypothetical. The evidence is often circumstantial…”  He writes of the tendency to meld fact with fantasy. 

Like many artists of his day (and even some today), Leonardo had a studio where he employed assistants and it’s not clear if the Salvator Mundi is an ‘autographed Leonardo’ - that is; designed and painted by him, or a ‘Leonardo plus workshop’ where an assistant painted it, perhaps under the guidance of the master. The problem is that there is a huge price differential between the two possibilities.  And to complicate matters further, there is thought to be at least 20 copies of the painting floating around the world. 

Leonardo was a celebrity by the time the Salvator Mundi was produced, and yet there is almost no documentation from the time indicating that he painted it.  Which is unlike almost anything else he produced, no hype, no mention of it in his notebooks.  According to Lewis, the greatest Leonardo experts in the world are divided over this painting which makes it such a fascinating topic.

After the overpainting had been removed by Dianne Modestini

It’s beyond the scope of this blog to trace the history of this painting, murky as it is, but in 1908 it appears in a photograph at the Cook Collection in poor condition, heavily overpainted.  The painting remains in the collection until 1958 when the Cook family hold an auction and whilst every major art dealer in Europe is in attendance, no one buys the Salvator Mundi.  That is, until an American couple who were travelling through the UK purchase it for 45 pounds before returning to the US on a cargo ship. 

The painting remains in their household in New Orleans for nearly 50 years, during which time the couple die and a relative decides to sell their collection of paintings.  A representative of Christies visits the home and ignores the painting which is eventually sold at a “forth division auction house” in 2005 to two New Orleans art dealers, Alex Parish and Robert Simon, for $1175.  They later claimed they spent $10,000 because they wanted to give the painting more credibility. 

And here the story becomes really intriguing.  Although the painting was in poor condition, it was the depiction of Christ’s hand that convinced them that it was worth restoring.  So they took the painting to one of America’s foremost restorers Dianne Modestini to weave her magic.  After removing all the overpainting the picture appeared as above.  A large crack that leads down to a knot appears in the painting and this is another argument used by those who question the painting’s authenticity.  Although Leonardo painted on board, he was thought to be a perfectionist and would never paint on a board containing a knot, due to the possibility that it would make the board unstable.  But during the restoration process, which took roughly six years, Modestini formed the view that it was a genuine Leonardo. 

As Lewis points out, the problem with restorations is that there are no guidelines or limits on how far a restorer can go to repair a work of art.  Therefore auction houses such as Christies are not required to warrant the condition of an artwork, or its restoration.  All they have to do is warrant that the painting is by, say, Leonardo. 

The Salvator Mundi first came to the public’s attention in 2011 when it was included in a major Leonardo exhibition held at the National Gallery in London, having been touted as a genuine Leonardo.  Afterwards, Simon and Parish decide it’s time to sell. 

Enter the Swiss art dealer Yves Bouvier.  For a decade, Bouvier had acted as an agent for the Russian oligarch Dmitry Rybolovlev, selling him $2 billion dollars worth of art.  What Rybolovlev didn’t realise was that these purchases included a $1 billion dollar markup.  Bouvier’s negotiations with Sothebys for the purchase of Salvator Mundi on behalf of Rybolovlev in 2013 was a sham.  He purchased the painting for himself for $83 million and sold it the next day to Rybolovlev for $127.5 million.  He claims to have warned Rybolovlev not to buy the painting as he didn’t consider it a sound investment, but Rybolovlev insisted he wanted the painting.

Bouvier developed the concept of the ‘freeport’, which are armoured warehouses located usually within the perimeter of an airport or shipping terminal where people can store valuable items free from import duties.  These items can be bought and sold through the freeport system without any taxes being paid because the items are considered to be in transit.  It’s thought that billions of dollars of art are stored in these freeports as financial assets only.   

In 2014 Rybolovlev saw an article in the New York Times which stated the true price that was paid for the Salvator Mundi.  Feeling that he’d been taken advantage by Bouvier, Rybolovlev directs Bouvier to sell all his paintings by Christmas 2014, or face the consequences.  This directive was given on 22nd November.  As a result of the actions taken against him, Bouvier claims to have lost everything. 

And this brings us to the auction of Rybolovlev’s collection (which include works by Gauguin, Rothko, Magritte, Picasso) at Christies in 2017 and that record $450 million dollar sale of the Salvator Mundi, considered to be the black sheep in the collection.  Christies embarked on an outrageous advertising campaign to generate the necessary hype surrounding the painting.  They promoted it as the male Mona Lisa and produced a video which contains very little footage of the painting.  Instead we see people seemingly gobsmacked whilst looking at it - the cast includes Leonardo DiCaprio.  

Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman & his yacht. (The Times)

These art auctions are pure theatre, and once the bidding on the Salvator Mundi reached $180 million, it had exceeded the previous record price for an artwork, anywhere.  The buyer turned out to be the ruler of Saudi Arabia, Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman.  And now, the whereabouts of the painting is unknown.  It was a no-show at a major exhibition of Leonardo’s work that was held at the Louvre to commemorate the 500th anniversary of his death in 1519.  There was to have been an official unveiling of the painting in Abu Dhabi in 2018, but it was canceled 2 weeks prior.   It’s thought that the painting is stored on the Prince’s private super yacht. 

According to one critic, after drugs and prostitution, the art market is the most unregulated market in the world; a totally opaque world in which no one knows the true value of a work, who’s buying it and who’s selling it. 

References;

‘The Last Leonardo - With Ben Lewis’,  the Art Law Podcast, 2019

‘The Lost Leonardo’, 2021 documentary directed by Andreas Koefoed

Art And Design: Bonnard At The NGV

The Bonnard Exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria is a revelation in curation.  The gallery engaged the services of award winning architect and designer India Mahdavi to create a “unique and immersive scenography” for their 2023 Winter Masterpieces exhibition.  In fact, the full title of the exhibition is “Pierre Bonnard: Designed by India Mahdavi.”

(Geoff Harrison)

Iranian born, but now based in Paris, Mahdavi produces immersive environments around the world for exhibitions and restaurants.  In her studio, she endeavors to merge the worlds of architecture, interior design, furniture design, fashion and exhibition design.  Initially, Mahdavi wanted to be a film maker, but the opportunities in Paris for women were very limited so she decided to study architecture instead.  She then went to New York and took classes in product design, graphic design and furniture design which introduced her to something “more tactile, more emotional.”

(Peta Tranquille)

Her work is closely aligned with the film industry.  “Many of the environments I create are very cinematic….they are saturated with life…”  She explains her objectives thus, “In general, I think that your environment has an impact on your mood, right?  I like to bring a sense of joy and happiness to whatever I do, because it puts you in a good mood.  So really, that’s my approach, in general.” 

Mahdavi’s “scenography” certainly succeeded with the current exhibition as I have never been able to entirely understand Bonnard as an artist, yet I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  As is often the case when I struggle to appreciate an artist, I turn to that excellent critic, Robert Rosenblum.  By the 1880’s, some artists were looking for more in their art practice than merely recording the landscape as an objective.  The impressionists were becoming passe for many artists who wanted to explore the psychology behind a scene, that is; what can be seen behind closed as well as open eyes.  They wanted to evoke nuanced and nameless emotions in their art using a wide variety of techniques - flat bold colour with clear outlines in some cases (Gauguin for instance), or hazy darkness in others.

Bonnard, Twilight (The Crocket Party), 1892, 130 x 162 cm (Pubhist)

Pierre Bonnard and Edouard Vuillard have been dubbed the Intimistes for their depictions of domestic scenes infused with a “mysterious, elusive sensibility.”  In this exhibition you can see how Bonnard’s technique evolved over time.  His early scenes are viewed through a tapestry of patterns and textures which blend in with the physical elements of the scene.  Later in his career, Bonnard seems to have abandoned this technique entirely.

Bonnard, Man And Woman 1900, 115 x 72.5 cm (Wikimedia Commons)

One striking aspect of this exhibition is how the artists appear to break all the rules of composition, yet come up with paintings that still work.  A classic example is Bonnard’s “Man And Woman” from 1900, in which a screen divides our view and perhaps sets up a duality of male and female.  It gives a charge to a scene that might otherwise be regarded as one of quiet domesticity.

Vallotton, Dinner By Lamplight, 1899, 57 x 90 cm (Wikiart)

But it’s the ‘support acts’ of this exhibition that add extra enjoyment, especially the paintings of Felix Vallotton - two in particular which appear in a catalogue of the Musee d’Orsay that I have always wanted to see first hand.  One is “Dinner By Lamplight” from 1899 in which we see the menacing silhouette of the artist himself in the foreground and his step-daughter in the distance.  Apparently, Vallotton was a master wood engraver, hence the strong colours and outlines.  Rosenblum refers to the “Halloween-like spookiness” of the scene.

Vallotton, Poker 1902, 52.5 x 67.5 cm (Paintings In The Musee D'Orsay)

The other painting is “Poker” from 1902.  A large empty table dominates the scene and suggests that dinner is over and a card game is the aftermath.  There is a theatrical element to this scene which is illuminated by the same intense, even eerie lamplight. 

“Pierre Bonnard: Designed by India Mahdavi” is on at NGV International and runs until 8th October. 

References;

NGV Magazine

“Paintings Of The Musee D’Orsay - Robert Roseblum 

Hello, my name is Geoff. You may be interested to know that I’m a fulltime artist these days and regularly exhibit my work in Victoria, but particularly in Melbourne. You may wish to check out my work using the following link; https://geoffharrisonarts.com

Images Of Aradale

A friend once said to me many years ago “It’s a pain in the backside when you are driven to do something that’s not economically viable”.  By which he meant - art.  But then, perhaps it depends on what type of art practice we are talking about.

When I was at art school in the 1990’s, I was made aware of an exhibition called the Cunningham Dax collection of psychiatric art that was on show at the Victorian Artists Society in East Melbourne.  Talk about art on the edge!!  Years earlier, the head of the mental health authority in this state, Eric Cunningham-Dax, had rescued from the dumpmaster hundreds of drawings and paintings produced by patients of psychiatric hospitals.  They are now on permanent display at the Dax Centre, Melbourne University.  The last time I saw the exhibition, it had been sanitized compared to what I saw years before.  That is, not half as confronting.

Evening At Aradale, 2007 oil on canvas, 80 x 106 cm

The whole issue of mental illness, of an existence outside the mainstream, has long fascinated me.  Not to mention the history of mental illness in my family.  (Given recent events, I would imagine the prevalence of mental illness has skyrocketed generally.)  In the early 1990’s I attended an open day at the Willsmere Psychiatric Hospital in Kew just after the last patients had been removed.  Unforgivably, I left my camera home.  I didn’t make the same mistake when I visited the former Aradale facility in Ararat in western Victoria a few years later.

View From The Tower, Aradale, 2021, oil on canvas, 84 x 84 cm (available for sale on the Bluethumb website)

Aradale certainly attracted its fair share of adverse publicity over the years, largely due to underfunding by increasingly stingy governments.  It was opened for business in the late 1860’s and in its heyday was surrounded by 100 acres of land.  The facility raised its own cattle, sheep and poultry, did its own slaughtering, grew fruit and vegetables and thus was largely self-supporting.  Coal for the furnaces was about the only thing that needed to be brought in, apart from patients of course.  The facility also had its own tailors producing uniforms, a chapel and a morgue.

Winter At Aradale, 2021, oil on canvas, 66 x 86 cm (available for sale on the Bluethumb website)

Whilst facilities such as Aradale courted controversy from time to time, there is no doubt that “asylum” means refuge and sanctuary and many of the former patients would stand little chance of surviving in the outside world.  The notion of “least restrictive environment” governs mental health policy these days, thus we have the reality of “sidewalk psychotics” as the Americans call them. 

I held an exhibition of paintings based on Aradale at the  Ararat Gallery in 2004.  One of the gallery staff told me she drove past the entrance to Aradale the morning after it had closed in 1993 and saw what she believed to have been former patients gathering at the gates.  They may have been crazy, but they weren’t stupid.

Aradale Evening, 2022, oil on canvas, 71 x 86 cm (available for sale on the Bluethumb website)

Some year ago I got fully involved in exploring ‘issues’ in my art and was producing rubbish more often than not.  So while the issue of deinstitutionalization still lingers in the back of my mind, (as I see it as a symptom of a less caring society), I’ve learned to focus on the art.  Perhaps it’s better to cajole someone to a particular point of view rather than browbeating them.

Hello, my name is Geoff. You may be interested to know that I’m a fulltime artist these days and regularly exhibit my work in Victoria, but particularly in Melbourne. You may wish to check out my work using the following link; https://geoffharrisonarts.com

Can Art Be A Business?

In writing this I am aware that it’s possible for 2 people to call themselves artists and have nothing in common with one another.  So this is a personal perspective.  Some time back I did a rather expensive arts business training course, and I was introduced to the concept of the “customer avatar”.  

I prefer to use the term customer profile, that is, the archetypal person who buys my work.  The first thing that occurred to me is that one needs a few sales in order to determine the archetypal buyer, right?  Leaving that issue aside, I’ve always had my doubts about this concept.  My doubts were confirmed when I raised the concept with the director of an inner Melbourne gallery with over 20 years experience in the business.  His response didn’t surprise me at all - “it’s bollocks”. 

Let’s just imagine that I was able to determine my customer profile.  What am I supposed to do then?  Keep churning out the same work to appeal to the same type of buyer?  Where does that leave the creative process? I think the answer is to follow your heart.  My most successful exhibition to date is my most autobiographical which was very gratifying.  If you are authentic, that is, true to yourself, you are bound to touch a nerve with the buying public sooner or later. 

These courses seem to be predicated on the notion that we can all be successful business people and creatives.  Some of us are and I envy them, but most of us aren’t so we have to either engage a ‘business brain’ to help with that aspect of our art practice, or muddle along as best we can. 

Social media has definitely helped some of us reach a wider audience than otherwise might have been possible, but it requires constant vigilance which, quite frankly, gets on my nerves at times (algorithms constantly changing etc.)  It distracts from the creative process. 

Time management is something else we were taught.  It was argued that we should be able to switch off our creative brain from time to time and devote ourselves to the business side of things, then magically switch our creativity back on at will.  Hmmm...  Goal setting was another topic; six month plan, one year plan, five year plan etc. I can see the point of having a plan, it’s one of the things that get us out of bed each morning but you have to be flexible and adapt to changing circumstances. 

It appeared to me that the participants in the course who gained the greatest benefits were those who had several projects on the go and needed to learn how to prioritize. 

There were some useful hints in the course, such as how to approach a commercial gallery and I now have a website that works – as opposed to one that didn’t.   I guess it’s a matter of sorting the wheat from the chaff with these courses. 

Glimpses Of Another World

With my upcoming exhibition at Tacit Galleries in Collingwood, I am returning to an earlier theme in my art practice, that of institutional environments.  The contrast between internal and external light is crucial in this work.  But also, there is the theme of mental incarceration.  The mind can play cruel games with us, imprisoning us with our own thoughts and inner turmoil.  Locked away in our preoccupations, our loneliness, there is a world out there that we sometimes feel unable to engage with.

View From The Attic, oil on canvas, 77 x 71 cm

The windows in these scenes could be computer screens in our so-called “connected” age.  Or they could be transparencies through which we view the world, made semi opaque by our preoccupations and inner turmoil.  But, as Olivia Laing discusses in her book “The Lonely City”, windows can be analogous to eyes.  Thus a sense of being walled off from the world is combined, even exacerbated by a sense of almost unbearable exposure.

Inside The Tower, Willsmere, oil on canvas, 76 x 61 cm

The theme of institutional environments in my art practice dates back to the 1990’s when I was studying art at RMIT University.  Contributing factors to this theme include;

• A history of depression in my family

• Having a half-brother who worked as a publications officer with the Mental Health Authority in the 1970’s & 80’s. He once drove me around the grounds of Willsmere Psychiatric Hospital in Kew. I can recall thinking to myself that if I was mad, I wouldn’t mind spending some time in this place – but of course, I never went inside. Not until the facility was closed which brings me to…

• Attending an open day at Willsmere in the early 1990’s, just after the facility had closed. I can remember it being an overcast drizzly day which set the scene perfectly

• The series “Jonathan Miller’s Madness” which was screened on ABC TV whilst I was studying at RMIT, which discussed the history and treatment of mental illness

• Witnessing the performance piece “Going Bye Byes” where British artist Stephen Taylor Woodrow converted a gallery space in Fitzroy into a hospital ward. This was part of the 1993 Melbourne International Festival

• Working in the state government offices in Treasury Place in buildings of a similar vintage to Willsmere and witnessing these offices being emptied of staff during the Kennett Government era

• Visiting the Cunningham-Dax collection of psychiatric art at the Victorian Artists Society whilst studying at RMIT

• Seeing the closure of psychiatric institutions as a symptom of a less caring society

• Arranging an inspection of the former Aradale Psychiatric facility in Ararat in western Victoria in 1998. Just me, the caretaker and this vast empty complex which is almost identical to Willsmere

Some of these dot points fall under the heading of political influences, but I have to remind myself that I am not necessarily painting “causes”. Instead, I am focusing on states of mind, although those states can be at least partially governed by external factors.

Consulting Rooms, oil on canvas, 42 x 61 cm

The concept of an existence outside the mainstream has always intrigued me, hardly surprising given my somewhat dysfunctional background.  For many years I tried to live a “mainstream” existence and failed.  My art practice gives me the opportunity to explore the “non-mainstream” as well as investigating the psychology of space as a metaphor for states of mind.  Perhaps there is a longing for human company in these works.  Then again, the concept of asylum also means sanctuary, refuge – that is, a safe place to be.

German psychiatrist Freda Fromm-Reichmann was one of the pioneers in the study of loneliness.  Her writings on the subject include, “Loneliness in its quintessential form is of a nature that is incommunicable by the one who suffers it.  Nor, unlike other non-communicable emotional experiences can it be shared via empathy.  It may well be that the second person’s empathic abilities are obstructed by the anxiety producing quality of the mere emanations of the first person’s loneliness.”

Art can play an important role in providing an avenue for artists to express their loneliness, their psychological pain in a creative, non-confrontational way.

Domestic Bliss, oil on canvas, 76 x 56 cm

I was tempted to title this exhibition “Lost Connections”, borrowed from the title of a book written by Johann Hari in which he discusses the causes of depression and some surprising cures.  But as Olivia Laing explains, loneliness can be the catalyst for creativity, for seeing the world with remarkable clarity.

The dynamic between sanctuary and confinement, beauty and loneliness often informs my work.  The source material may be a photograph I took a few weeks ago, or many years ago.  Light is used to create a sense of beauty or quiet contemplation in a scene that some may find disturbing.

“Glimpses Of Another World”, opens at Tacit Galleries, 191-193 Johnson St. Collingwood on 23rd March 2022.

References;

“The Lonely City” by Olivia Liang

“Lost Connections” by Johann Hari

Two People, One Artist - Gilbert & George

The expression “don’t judge a book by its cover” always comes to mind when I think of Gilbert and George.  Described as looking like repressed 1930’s bank managers, they have been confounding the art world for over 50 years. 

Matthew Collings describes them as the Morecombe and Wise of existentialism, and admires the shock value of much of their output. But he argues that there is a precedent, the work of Francisco Goya - the “father of shocks”. Like so many artists who have explored the theme of shock in their art, Gilbert and George argue that what appears on the TV news deeply shocking every day.

George Passmore (left) and Gilbert Proesch

They describe themselves as living sculptures and annoyance and provocation lie at the centre of their work.  One only has to look at their dancing song “Bend It” featured in their 1981 movie “The World of Gilbert and George” to see  they achieved that aim.

Being ineligible for government grants and teaching posts being out of the question, they were isolated and poor and decided to turn to their only resource – themselves.  They fused their art with their identity and the world around them.

Gilbert & George singing “Underneath the Arches” (DailyArt Magazine)

They decided they were going to be ’two people, one artist’.  They claimed that when they left art school they were completely lost and needed each other, no doubt at least partly due to their total eccentricity.   The major advantage of the partnership, they argue, is that there is always someone there to answer a question.  So they never have to work in a vacuum – the bane of many artists. They speak of the loneliness of many artists – especially when their work is rejected, but they always had each other to provide comfort.  They developed the concept that ‘nothing matters’.

This may explain why their naked bodies appeared more and more in their art, including the fluids that comes out of them, during the 1990’s.  Among their targets was the bible which they wanted to ridicule, texts of which appear alongside images of their naked bodies.  For 2000 years, they argue, the bible has dictated how people should behave, including images of nudity being suppressed.  They sought to confound the viewer by presenting images of shit in a decorative, colourful way.

Blood, Tears, Spunk, Piss series 1996 (Research Gate)

They have lived and worked at 12 Fournier St Spitalfields in London’s east end since the late 1960’s. It’s now a fashionable location.  But in the late 60’s the area was populated by the homeless, poor families and ‘cockney market traders’.  There were hostels nearby catering for tramps, returned servicemen damaged by their war experiences and petty criminals, all of which provided inspiration for their art.  They first met as students at St Martins School of Art in 1967 and immediately fell in love.  Two years later they appeared as “living sculptures”, painting their faces silver so they resembled robots and singing that appalling 1930’s music hall song Underneath the Arches.

Gilbert and George are inspired by their experiences of living in London.  12 Fournier St has become a shrine for their art and their reference material is carefully and meticulously referenced and catalogued so they can easily access it for future projects.  Thousands of photographic images have been reduced to contact sheets which form the basis of their reference material.  Almost all their images are taken either in their studio or within walking distance of it.  “We never felt the need to travel to exotic locations in order to be inspired”, says George.  They love the cosmopolitan nature of the East End where everyone seemed to get along quite well.

From their Dirty Words Pictures 1977 (Schirn Press)

Their “Dirty Words” pictures of the late 1970’s were based on images taken from the immediate neighbourhood and included images of the locals photographed from the windows at 12 Fournier St.  They wanted to show images of what “the city feels like or smells like”.  London was experiencing a massive garbage strike at the time and the city looked like a waste dump.  The middle class press gave their work a caning.  They were even asked “why do you have black people in your work?” But while the media complained, the public flocked to see their work.

In 2007, they were the first British artists to hold a major retrospective at Tate Modern which featured 200 of their works – thought to be one fifth of their 40 year output at that stage.  They curated the exhibition by producing an enormous scale model of the gallery space and placing miniature images of each work just so.

This exhibition was quite a coup given the suspicion with which the British art establishment had viewed them.

New Normal Pictures, White Cube Gallery (Art Limited)

Some of their work seeks to explore the intersection between masculinity, shame, anality and art.  They draw the viewer into their work by being decorative and large scale so that by the time they realize what they are looking at, it’s too late.

In April 2021, they held the exhibition “New Normal Pictures” at White Cube. In reviewing the show, The Guardian made reference to the paradox that is Gilbert and George. They were angered by the way some people saw the bright side of the Covid 19 pandemic; saying how great it is to be able to drive across London without the traffic and being able to see the stars at night without the pollution. Meanwhile tens of thousands of people were dying in misery and funerals were taking place several times a day near their home. “They are masters of provocation and proudly right wing, but they also have a compassion that would put plenty of seemingly virtuous artists to shame.”

On The Streets - Bag Men, Photograph, 2020 (White Cube)

What keeps Gilbert and George going is the sense that they are always under attack, so they need to fight back.  They have always been outsiders, despite the 2007 retrospective.  “We were never normal”.

References;

The Guardian

This Is Modern Art – BBC Channel 4, 1999

BBC Imagine

A Journey Around The Art World

Author and curator Matthew Israel embarked on a yearlong tour of the contemporary art scene, uncovering the working lives of artists, curators, gallerists, critics and he wrote of his experiences.  Nice work if you can get it.  The book was published in early 2020 which possibly represents unfortunate timing, given the devastating impact of the Covid 19 pandemic on the art scene.  As to how the art world emerges from the pandemic – only time will tell.

There are two chapters I want to focus on – art fairs and art schools.  Israel describes art fairs quite correctly as trade shows for the art world.  They are a booming business and he claims that there are over 260 fairs held globally as of 2017, and he begins with the biggest and most influential – Art Basel which is held in Basel, Miami and Hong Kong.  Apparently Art Basel works with roughly 500 galleries per year and upwards of 300 can take part in an individual fair.  I can imagine such an event as being overwhelming.

These fairs can be major tourist attractions with several other events running nearby and they can remake or establish a city’s image.  Art fairs come in various shapes and sizes of course, with some restricted to a single city.  The smaller ones start with significantly lower price points and tend to attract far less press coverage and critical acclaim. They can present a more intimate setting and many are long established and very successful.

Israel claims that the transactions galleries make at art fairs have become more significant than the business they do at their own locations.  In some cases, the bulk of a gallery’s revenue comes from art fairs.  So why are art fairs so popular?  One explanation is they provide a one-stop shop for viewing art from around the world without the expense of “globetrotting”.  Another possible reason is the rise of the internet which enables people to access art from around the world rather than visit individual galleries.  So when they decide to see some art in person, this is what they expect to see.

Art fairs have their critics.  Some in the art world argue that fairs diminish art with their trade-show design, overwhelming size and sales-first agenda.  Some galleries say the fairs are too expensive to take part in, or too exclusive in that they squeeze out smaller operators.  Others argue that fairs are killing the gallery as a site of business, turning gallerists into travelling salesmen, stealing time and energy away from the creation of good art and exhibitions and strong relationships with collectors.  Some collectors get irritated at being hassled by salespeople when trying to view art uninterrupted.

I can remember visiting an art fair at Melbourne’s Royal Exhibition Buildings a few years ago and seeing how little thought some exhibitors gave to the presentation of their stock.  I saw two large, brightly coloured works (all surface, no content) on display with a Bill Henson photograph squeezed between them – dark, moody, intense.  It was awful.  It was akin to visiting a car show and seeing a Ferrari parked between two Hyundai Excels.  But art fairs appear to be here to stay.

In discussing art schools, Israel focusses mainly on the United States, but I can relate to much that is written.  The argument being presented here is that these days “art school” can mean many different things.  With the vast amount of money that has poured into the art world in recent decades, art world roles have become more specialized and streamlined into professions.  Accordingly, training has been adapted to cater for these new professions.  

Some art schools are being set up to train people for careers as artists, art historians, art journalists, curators, auction house specialists, conservators, advisors, gallery owners, publicists, collection managers, social media experts as so on.  Most of these courses are run at graduate level.  These new courses reflect a broader trend in higher education towards gaining more vocational skills with an emphasis on developing practical skills rather than on art theory.  And the predominant focus is on working in the field of contemporary art, hardly surprising given the boom in interest in this area in recent decades.  Most of these new programs are marketed as a means of accelerating one’s progress in the art world – in a business sense.

But many students still prefer the graduate studio art programs despite the relatively high costs involved (brought on by a lack of government funding) and the little likelihood of making any money from their art practice afterwards. Thus many graduates will be saddled with massive debts that they may never be able to pay back.

So how does a student decide what program to study?  Complicating things in the studio art programs is the influence of artists such as Marcel Duchamp who asserted that anything can be a work of art if the artist says so.  Therefore there has been a diminution in the teaching of traditional skills such a painting, drawing, sculpture, print making and photography as well as a questioning of the notion of quality.  Now “art” can be almost anything from a painting to a sculpture to a meal or a conversation or an installation consisting of any materials that the artist sees fit to include.  Whilst I was studying at RMIT, I found exhibitions that were staged by my teachers to be the least inspirational of any that I saw.

There is also a debate about how separate to make such schools.  There is the ivory tower approach where artists are insulated from the art market.  The benefit of such an approach (theoretically) is that it gives the student an opportunity to develop his/her ideas without being pressured by ‘the market’.  Alternatively, there are schools which focus more on placement services, such as offering more professional development and encouraging exposure to the business of art and galleries and to subjects like branding as well as strategies for enabling a long-term career. 

I believe I would have benefitted from this approach at RMIT.  There was simply a lack of interaction with working artists.

Among the many people Israel interviewed for the book was Steven Henry Madoff, chair of the Curatorial Practice program at the School of Visual Arts in New York City.  Madoff believes art school buildings should be remodeled into separate components, a network catering for different aspects of an arts course but functioning simultaneously. He also believes that ethics should play a greater role in what is termed foundation.  Given the rise of authoritarian governments, ethics is something that artists need to integrate into their practices, he argues.

Just as a footnote, not long after I graduated in 1997 with my arts degree, the RMIT abandoned its part time program.  I was still working full time back then so perhaps I was lucky.

References;

A Year In The Art World – An Insider’s View,  by Matthew Israel.  (Thames & Hudson, 2020)