Tiny Images, Vast Scenes / March 30, 2015 by Jeannine Cook

Peder Balke is not the name of an artist that readily springs to mind, yet he is now considered the pre-eminent Norwegian artist of the 19th century. His landscapes and especially seascapes, highly unusual in their techniques, are now justly celebrated. I was lucky enough to see an exhibition of his paintings at the National Gallery, having seen a smaller one of his work in the same rooms four years ago. Balke lived from 1804-1887, started out as a full-time painter and then had to turn to other ways of earning his living. Nonetheless, he continued to paint, for his own pleasure, experimenting and using paints in ways that heralded modern expressionism. He travelled to the North Cape in Norway, an area of dramatic coastlines and radiantly strange light of the Arctic Circle. These scenes continued to influence him many years later. He did not always paint specific scenes, but used the moods and impressions of nature, often in almost abstract fashion, to convey the majesty, mystery, solitude and power of the natural world.

The Old Bridge, Oil on panel, Peder Balke

Seascape c. 1860, oil on canvas mounted on panel, Peder Balke

While the larger paintings on display in the National Gallery exhibition were impressive, especially the highly atmospheric ones of Northern scenes, done in the 1870s, the ones that fascinate me are the tiny ones. They pack a punch, almost in a visceral way.

Stormy Sea, oil on cardboard, Peder Balke (Image courtesy of Drammens Museum)

They are indeed small, mostly blacks and white, seascapes and some landscapes of glaciers or waterfalls, often almost abstracts. They are not small, however, when it comes to impact. Their effect is perhaps more powerful than that of many of the larger paintings he did. Perhaps my love of monochromatic works leads me to them, but to me, they are stunning in their big voices coming from very small rectangles of oil on cardboard or oil on board.

Norther Lights over Coastal Landscape, c. 1870, oil on panel, Peder Balke

Sun breaking through the Clouds at Vardohus, 1860-1870s, oil on panel, Private Collection

I wonder if other people find them as arresting as I do?

"A-ha" Moments in Exhibitions / March 28, 2015 by Jeannine Cook

Do you ever experience a wonderful moment when you see something in an exhibition, it suddenly resonates and explains some connection, or gives an unexpected insight into something else? I love those moments. I had a few such instances during my exhibition "orgy" in London recently. The first one came as I was marvelling at Goya's drawings in the superb "Goya: The Witches and Old Women Album" at The Courtauld Gallery. This exhibition was the first reconstruction of the dispersed 23 drawings from Francisco Goya's so-called Album D, "Witches and Old Women, produced during the wonderfully productive last decade of his life, together with other related drawings and prints.

The exhibition was riveting in every way - Goya's economy of drawing, his powers of depicting human emotions in their most raw and dramatic forms, his mordant commentaries on human foibles, all so simply done on small sheets of paper, in shades of ink - oh heavens! The scholarly work done that permits the reconstruction of this album, in a coherent and likely order of drawings, was also most fascinating and impressive.

Then, in the works accompanying the 23 drawings, there was a brush and brown ink drawing from Album B, Estas Brujas lo diran (Those Witches will tell).

Estas Brujas lo diran, Francisco Goya, brush & brown ink, (image courtesy of Prado Museum, Madrid)

I was so astonished. The line from Goya ran straight and true to Egon Schiele's Self Portraits. Goya's drawing is a haunting image of a naked old witch devouring snakes. Egon Schiele's Self-Portraits tell of equally disturbing solitary states of mind.

Self-Portrait, Egon Schiele, 1912 (Image courtesy of Leopold Museum)

Both artists are fluid in their lines, their vigorous treatment of wet and dry passages of drawing media. Did Schiele know of Goya's drawing in the Prado? Or was it just happenstance, the result of two gifted draughtsmen's states of mind?

Another "aha" moment for me that stands out in my memory was when I was looking at one of several unusual Claude Monet paintings in "Inventing Impressionism: Paul Durand-Ruel and the Modern Art Market" at the National Gallery. In the gallery showing works by Monet that Durand-Ruel had exhibited in a pioneering monographic show in 1883, , there was an arresting painting of two apple tarts or galettes on wicker platters, Les Galettes, painted in 1882 and in a private collection today.

Les Galettes, 1882, oil on canvas, Claude Monet, Private Collection

Its vigour and brio of treatment, its golds and yellows and close-cropped composition all take one straight to Vincent Van Gogh and his sunflowers or even a study of humble fishes, or bloaters. Did he see Monet's study of the Galettes - he most probably did, as he produced the first studies of cut sunflower heads some five years later.

Two Cut Sunflowers, Vincent Van Gogh, 1887, oil on canvas, (Image courtesy of Kunstmuseum, Bern)

Two Cut Sunflowers, oil on canvas, 1887. Vincent Van Gogh (Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum, New York)

Bloaters on a Piece of Yellow Paper, oil on canvas, 1889, Vincent Van Gogh

The third moment of fascination for me was in the same Impressionist exhibition, again a Monet painting done in 1875, The Coal Carriers. Monet had seen workers unloading coal for the Clichy gasworks from the train from Argenteuil to Paris, and painted this work partly from memory.

The Coal Carriers, oil on canvas. Claude Monet, c. 1875 (Image courtesy of the Musee d'Orsay, Paris)

The rhythmic placement of the men on the gangplanks, the silhouettes and dark colours somehow reminded me of many of the Japanese ukiyo-e prints, their rhythms and cropped views. Monet was an avid admirer of the new wave of Japanese prints coming in to Paris at that time.

Twilight Moon at Ryogoku Bridge from series Famous Views of the Eastern Capital, Utagawa Hiroshige

Utagawa Hiroshige: Twilight View of the Snow-clad Ryogoku Bridge

I love these moments when you can link up artists, influences and inspirations. They validate one's own endeavours as an artist as you study and view other artists' works, not to copy, but to use as pathways to grow and spread wings.

Delirium of Art Exhibitions / March 24, 2015 by Jeannine Cook

My problem with a visit to London is that it is never long enough! There is always another exhibition that beckons or a concert that demands to be heard. Nonetheless, there is a distinct delirium in the dizzying number of art exhibitions that I managed to see. There is always the vast diversity of size and type of exhibition from which to choose. The huge and fascinating "Inventing Impressionism: Paul Durand-Ruel and the Modern Art Market" at the National Gallery is currently one extreme. The other is a really interesting and diverse small exhibition, "Cotton to Gold: Extraordinary Collections of the Industrial North West".

This show, "Cotton to Gold" was a delight from beginning to end, not least because of where it is exhibited. Two Temple Place is a relatively new exhibition venue, along the Victoria Embankment, on the Thames, in front of the amazing Law Courts complex. A small but seriously over the top neo-Gothic building, it was built as an office for the first Viscount Astor, William Waldorf, in the 1890s. Lavish beyond belief in details and embellishments, it was a statement of power and wealth seldom equalled today. The building alone, now the home of The Bulldog Trust, is well worth a visit, quite apart from any exhibition put on during the winter months.

Two Temple Place, London. Main Hall-Office

"Cotton to Gold" was a show curated from the collections of three small museums in the British North West, collections that had been donated by very wealthy private citizens in the late 19th/early 20th century. These men had made their money in Lancashire's booming textile industry. Not only did they collect with a passion, but they were also serious local philanthropists, supporting social and cultural institutions.

Mosaic Panel with two sulphur-crested cockatoos attributed to Joseph Briggs, c. 1908, favrile glass in bronze tray, Briggs Collectiob, Haworth Art Gallery

The collections from which this show was curated ranged hugely. Early icons from Greece, Russia and the Eastern Mediterranean; Greek and Roman coins; superb Japanese ukiyo-e prints (pictures of the floating world); cuneiform tablets, manuscripts and books that traced the history of writing from 4000 years ago until the 20th century; carved ivories, J.M.W. Turner watercolours; John Everett Millais' life drawings; work from the largest public collection of Tiffany glass in Europe; even beetles and Peruvian funerary objects. It was a mind-stretching but really fascinating selection. There was something to interest everyone, in essence.

Book of Hours, 13th century, Paris, parchment, from Robert Edward Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Some of the early illuminated manuscripts collected by Robert Edward Hart were exquisite, while others from 15th or 18th century Persia fascinated by their elegance.

Detail, Book of Hours, early 16th century, possibly Rouen, parchment, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Missal written by Johannes de Berlandia, c. 1400, Lombardy, parchment, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Muhammad ibn Sulayman al-Jazul, Dala'il al-khayrut, (Guide to Goodness), 18th century, Persia/Iran. Robert Edward Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Nizanni Ganjavi, Khamsa (Quintet), late 15th century, Persia/Iran, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Early printed books showed the straddle between printing and hand illustrations, then printing predominated completely. There were early copies of names that resonate - Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Montaigne or Swift. It made one stretch back into one's early education, a rather humbling affair!

This exhibition reminded me that an exhibition conceived on a very human scale and with such a diversity of content is often unusual today. Nonetheless, it was a delicious and memorable set of collections woven together for everyone's delight. The exhibition runs until 19th April, 2015 - well worth a saunter along the Victoria Embankment beneath the huge plane trees until you reach Two Temple Place.

The Symbolism of Words / March 8, 2015 by Jeannine Cook

When I first came to Mallorca, Spain, so many years ago, it was still during Franco's regime. The Balearic Islands were officially forbidden from speaking their own regional language, Mallorquin, and they certainly were not allowed to have any symbol like a regional hymn.

Slowly, slowly, over the years after Franco died and Spain became a democracy and part of the European Union, the Balearics regained their identifying characteristics. One of the most beautiful aspects, I have always thought, was the song that is now termed the hymn of Mallorca, La Balanguera.

The poem that gave rise to this hymn was written by Joan Alcover i Maspons, as a children's poem that combined whimsy, beauty and instructional philosophy for their life ahead. The poem was put to very lyrical music written by the Catalan composer, Amadeo Vives, and in 1996, the appropriate governmental body, the Consell de Mallorca, declared it to be the island's official hymn.

I have always known, of course, its Mallorcan or Spanish versions, loving it when I hear its melodies sung or even hummed. I recently found an English version translated by Dr. George Giri and published in the Majorcan Daily Bulletin.

Its words contain enough quiet wisdom that I think they bespeak a beauty worth considering.

The spinning wheel’s mysterious treadler Like a spider its subtle art Reels away her flaxen distaff Into yarn that holds our life Thus the spinner treadles On and on And spins her yarn.

Turning glances backward Sees the shadows of the past And the coming springtime Hides the seeds of things to come Knowing that the roots are growing And new roots are taking hold Thus the sinner treadles on and on And spins her yarn.

Hopes that hold traditions Weave a banner for the young Like a veil for future marriage Locks of silver and gold Which are spun into our youth But with age are nearly gone Thus the spinner treadles on and on And spins her yarn.

The Spanish version is just as lyrical in feel.

La Balanguera misteriosa (del francés "boulangère": panadera), como una araña de arte sutil, vacía que vacía la rueca, de nuestra vida saca el hilo. Como una parca que bien cavila, tejiendo la tela para el mañana. La Balanguera hila, hila, la Balanguera hilará.

Girando la vista hacia atrás vigila las sombras del abolengo, y de la nueva primavera sabe donde se esconde la semilla. Sabe que la cepa más trepa cuanto más profundo puede arraigar. La Balanguera hila, hila la Balanguera hilará.

De tradiciones y de esperanzas teje la bandera para la juventud como quien hace un velo de bodas con cabellos de oro y plata de la infancia que trepa de la vejez que se va La Balanguera hila, hila, la Balanguera hilará.

Hymns always reflect the optic of the region or nation that has them. The gentle yet fatalistic recognition of life's realities inherent in La Balanguera is very congruent with the sense of long history and solid self-identity with which this island faces the invasion of visitors and potential foreign residents over the years. I love this feeling of deep-seated culture that underpins Mallorcan life in so many instances, especially away from the tourist centres.

In essence, La Balanguera tells of the art of living. An interesting choice for a hymn.