Painting the Atlantic Ocean

I have been reading Simon Winchester's book on the Atlantic and found it interesting to read what he wrote about this mighty ocean being the subject of paintings.  It started me thinking of paintings I have seen in museums which depict maritime scenes. Then, of course, there is the distinction to be made of where exactly is the body of water that each artist shows.

Think, for instance, of all the wonderful Impressionist painters' works showing the sea off the Normandy coast of France.  Is one being purist in defining those maritime scenes as of the English Channel, rather than the Atlantic? Eugene Boudin with his base at Honfleur, Monet, Manet, Courbet, Pissarro, Sisley - they all gravitated to the Normandy coast from the 1860s onwards. Their paintings show the sea in its many moods - sparkling, like Monet's wonderful

Manneporte Etretat, February 1883, Claude Monet,

(Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art).

Gustave Courbet studied the power of the waves at Etretat too, but his paintings show the darker moods of the sea. In 1869, he did two paintings of

The Wave, 1870, Gustave Courbet, (Image courtesy of Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Nationalgalerie)

There was, of course, endless experimentation amongst artists working on the French coast. By 1885, Seurat was treating the sea very differently. This is his English Channel at Grandcamp.

English Channel at Grandcamp, Georges Seurat, (Image courtesy of Museum of Modern Art, New York)

Gauguin perhaps painted the Atlantic more directly, during his stays in Brittany in the 1880s.  Based in Pont Aven and at Le Pouldu, he painted feverishly, both looking to the green Breton lands and out to sea, the ever-changing Atlantic.

Seascape with cow/At the edge of the cliff, 1888, Paul Gauguin, (Image courtesy of the Musee d'Orsay, Paris)

Rochers au bord de la Mer, 1886, Paul Gauguin, oil on canvas, (Image courtesy of Goteborgs Konstmuseum, Sweden)

However, earlier artists had depicted the sea, further north in what is perhaps even less the true Atlantic Ocean and more the North Sea. During the 17th century, when the Dutch were consolidating their mastery of the sea, their artists were celebrating the many moods of ocean and shore.

(‘Fishermen on Shore Hauling in their Nets,’ c.1640, Julius Porcellis, Oil on panel, 393-by-546mm, National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, UK).

Willem van der Velde, both father and son, were also famed both in Holland and England, for their maritime scenes, in which naval engagements were often depicted.  Both showed a knowledge of the Atlantic and the North Sea, but again, it is, I suspect, often hard to distinguish where the divide between Atlantic and adjacent waters exists in the art.

Three Ships in a Gale, W. van der Welde, 1673 (Image courtesy of The National Gallery, London)

Small Dutch Vessel close-hauled in a Strong Breeze. W. van der Velde, circa 1672.  (Image courtesy of The National Gallery, London)

However, by the 18th century and the era of great voyages of exploration (think Captain James Cook on the HMS Endeavour, with Sidney Parkinson as the official artist on board during the 1768-71 voyage, or the  much later, famous 1831-35 circumnavigation of the globe by the HMS Beagle, with Charles Darwin as naturalist and Augustus Earle as artist), maritime art had widened its scope.  It was not just the Atlantic Ocean that was now well known, but the other great bodies of water around the globe.

Nonetheless, J.M.W. Turner, in some of his great sea paintings, looked back to Williem van der Velde the Younger.  In his amazing use of light, gave the feeling of the ocean new and dazzling interpretations. In the painting of the Slave Ship, based on anti-slavery poetry,Turner depicted the slavers disposing of dead and dying slaves before an impending storm.

The Slave Ship,  J.M.W. Tuner, oil on canvas, 1840, (Image courtesy of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

By the mid-19th century, many sailors knew first hand of the fury of hurricanes and typhoons. On the Western/American side of the North Atlantic, artists were also beginning to address marine painting.  One of the first was Massachusetts-born Fitz Hugh Lane, (1804-1865), known as a Luminist painter and a most successful exponent of the Atlantic as seen from the New England coast. 

Brace's Rock, Gloucester, MA, circa 1864, Fitz Hugh Lane (Courtesy of the National Gallery of Art, Washington)

Other famed exponents of the Atlantic include Winslow Homer.  His most acclaimed marine paintings date from the 1890s, when he was living some seventy-five feet from the water in Prout's Neck, Maine.  Like so many artists, he was fascinated by the power of waves crashing on rugged coastlines.

Sunlight on the Coast, 1890, Winslow Homer (Image courtesy of the Toledo Museum of Art)

Today, we artists have a wonderful heritage to which to refer when we think of paintings of the mighty Atlantic Ocean.  There are countless artists working today along the coastlines of North and South America, Western Europe and Africa, for the power of the ocean summons us all.

Romanesque art in Barcelona

One of the highlights of a trip to Barcelona is the collection of Romanesque art in the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya (MNAC) - fittingly, you climb up to Montjuic mountain and enter the impressive, domed Palau Nacional, with its frescoes, huge spaces and wonderful diverse collections of Cataluna's art.

The Romanesque collection of art, however, is reputedly the best in the world assembled in one place, and it is astounding in its breadth and depth, its presentation and its relevance to all the other art that one can see in the same museum.  It is a wonderful reminder of how the 10th-13th century world in Spain was so closely linked with that of France, Italy and Northern Europe.  As a young woman, I used to travel from Paris to Barcelona by car, meandering through France to all the major Romanesque sites.  This Barcelona collection is the perfect continuation of the wonders that one can see in France in the famed churches and chapels.

Taller of La Seu d'Urgeuell

Apse of Sant Climent de Tauli, c. 1123

Frescoes, tenderly rescued from chapels and churches all over Cataluna but mostly to the north, are beautifully mounted in domed reproductions of the churches, or incorporated into arches.  The domes are created from wonderful wooden structures whose complex beauty and carpentry are works of art in themselves, seen from behind the display of each fresco.  Colours are as vivid, in many cases, as if the frescoes were executed yesterday - their directness is arresting, details astonishing.

Detail of the Nativity scene from the front of the Avia Altar

Santa Julitta

Many of the frescoes are done in colours that seem so modern, as can be seen in the excellent presentation on the Museum website. In a way, this religious art is fun - it is imbued with religious fervour, yes, but also with a fresh reflection of life and the things that mattered to those contemporary worshippers.  Details are wonderful and well worth looking at closely as you wander through the beautifully presented rooms (many redone in late 2011).

There were delicious cattle, cockerels, other beasties amid the details of everyday life.  Many of them are the direct link to Antoni Gaudi, for instance, when you look at details of the Sagrada Familia sculptures.  Then when you turn to the rooms of Romanesque sculptures at the Museum, the simplicity and power of the wooden or metal crucifixes were memorable and haunting, especially as they are superbly presented and lit.

This small and gauntly exquisite Christ is from Serdanya in Cataluna (image at right).

This wonderful polychrome crucifix is the Batllo mid-12th century Crucifix.

In similar fashion, the fabulously simple, wooden figures, arrestingly displayed, are very powerful. Some are almost Oriental in the serenity of their faces and expressions, their surfaces beautifully worked and smooth.

Figures from the church of Santa Eulàliain Erill la Vall (Boí Valley, Alta Ribagorça)

As a counterpoint to all the polychromed frescoes, there are rooms of carved capitals on pillars from cloisters and churches, the stone wonderfully worked with saints, plants, fanciful beasties... and in the final room, there was a selection of enamelled religious objects, many in champleve, many from Limoges.  Again, the reminder of how close were the religious communities of France and Spain.

Anyone with an hour or more to spare in Barcelona should do themselves a favour and see this remarkable collection of Romanesque art - it takes one into a world of powerful, direct emotions - joys, sorrows, deep beliefs and hopes, seasoned with humour and respect for life and nature.

Magical Threads

The law of delicious coincidences is again in force for me – coincidences of artistry that span many centuries and in a totally unexpected way.

Caixa Forum Palma has a most interesting and rather unusual exhibition at present - Another Egypt. Coptic collections from the Louvre. It is a nicely displayed selection of Coptic art, with one section showing artifacts mainly from two very early Coptic Christian churches, with selections of carved stonework capitals and friezes, lights and other religious items. Since Christianity arrived in Egypt very early on, probably about AD 33 via Mark the Evangelist, there was a slow increase in Coptic adherents, until Alexandria became an important centre of Christianity. Influences from Greek, Roman, Pharonic and Byzantine civilisations melded with the natural world familiar to the Egyptians along the banks of the Nile; the resultant Coptic culture produced elegantly simple, yet sophisticated designs of pomegrantes, palms, vines in the stone carvings. Woods used for carved doors and other church furnishings were those of the desert - tamarisk and fig, unusual woods to see carved.

This is a photo courtesy of the Lessing Photo archive of  the Louvre's pieces of  the North Portal of the Coptic Baouit Chapel.  The lintel is carved in acacia, tamarisk and fig wood.

The second section was the source of my delicious coincidences... amongst a wide selection of artifacts that the Copts used in their daily life, including examples of the Greek alphabet being introduced to enrich the written word, was a wonderful collection of textiles from the 4th and 5th centuries AD.  Both secular and religious pieces were displayed,  with a marvellous melding of cultures again and all of a freshness, delicacy and brilliance of colour that astonished.  Linen and wool, used with great finesse, and all of a quality that belie their great age.

A 4th century Coptic wall hanging depicting Artemis and Aktaion, in the British Museum (image courtesy of the Lessing Photo Archive)

These wonderful works of fabric art were still vivid in my mind's eye when, a couple of days later, I walked into a gem of an exhibition at Espai H.C., the Lluc Fluxa elegant gallery in Palma de Mallorca. Thread by Thread is a selection of embroidered works of art done by Mallorcan ladies for the Palma establishment, Casa Bonet, that sold embroidered goods from 1862 to 2007.  The work ranges from the most elaborate and exquisite of ladies' hankerchiefs to tablecloths, via marvellous pieces that won prizes in international competitions all over Europe. White silhouettes on black of Greek inspiration, figures that could have almost come from the Coptic fabrics, were created one thread at a time of the finest silk thread.  Even a link to the Copts came with written pieces of poetry or enthusiastic and lyrical testimonials that were then so exactly reproduced in embroidery that it was virtually impossible to tell which was on paper and which was on fabric.  This is art in its most wonderful form, art created with a silk-threaded needle and frame on sheer fabric.

A marvel of handwork created by Mallorcan embroiderers in the Casa Bonet collection (image courtesy of Diario de Mallorca newspaper)

Between the Coptic and Mallorcan textile artists, it was hard to choose which I preferred.  I just delighted in the juxtaposition and coincidence of seeing wondrous creativity in an artform I seldom see.

Same Exhibit, Different Venues - how to see Miro

Sometimes one is lucky enough to catch the same exhibition at different venues, and it is then extremely interesting to see how the different presentation affects the exhibits feel.

This happened to me when I had first see Joan Miro. The Ladder of Escape at the Tate Modern in London last year, and found that the same exhibition is now showing at the Joan Miro Foundation in Barcelona until 18th March.

Of course, in my personal opinion, the actual buildings cannot be compared, with the Joan Miró Foundation, white, elegant and sprawling along the hill crest over down town Barcelona as an eloquent evocation of the Mediterranean world, being the far more compatible venue. Nonetheless, it is when you enter the exhibition that its presentation becomes interesting to observe.

The Tilled Field, Joan Miró, 1923-24, Image courtesy of the  Solomon R.Guggenheim Museum

In the Tate version, the early Miró paintings of the Mont-roig world, near Barcelona, in which he grew up and which marked him so deeply, were spread out far apart, even in different rooms. In Barcelona, the Mont-roig world was powerfully evoked by grouping all these wonderful early, seminal paintings together in the same, rather intimate area. One of the most evocative, and important as the first of Miró's Surrealistic paintings, is The Tilled Field, painted in 1923-24.

Santiago Calatrava's Communications Tower, Barcelona

As an aside, this painting also fascinated me because it contains a wonderful herald to Santiago Calatrava's sculpture-communications tower that takes flight into the air nearby in the Montjuic heights of Barcelona, near the 1992 Olympic stadium. Depending on the angle at which you view the Communications Tower, it has very much the same feel as the left-hand symbol in Miró's painting above.

The Miró Foundation grouped together all the Catalan Peasants paintings, with their wonderful shorthand that Miró used to express his feelings about Catalonia, the peasants with guitars, his tussle between voids in the painting and the need to fill these voids or leave them free. The effect was far more powerful and interesting to see these works together, with their progressions and differences, as compared to their spacious presentation by the Tate Modern.

The same intimate, interesting effect was achieved in Barcelona by a much closer juxtaposition of the wonderful Constellations series. Beyond, the presentation was more reminiscent of that done by the Tate, mainly because the later Miró canvases became much bigger, bolder and fewer in series - that meant that they could be hung in rooms, series by series. Nonetheless, there were interesting pauses and changes in pace as at the Miró Foundation, there are Miró sculptures, many small and whimsical, in addition to his single marble sculpture, the Solar Bird and some of the wonderful ceramic ones out on the wide terrace with the Barcelona cityscape as the sunlit backdrop.

This fascinating exhibition travels next to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. It would be so interesting to catch it there too and see what differences can be achieved and nuances explored at yet another, different venue.

Between Concept and Results in Art

It is always interesting to get insights into how other artists work, their approach to creating art and their thoughts about the process. Perhaps it is just a feeling that one might be walking the same path, or maybe that one can learn from some someone else's experiences.

I found that there is a great deal to learn from a wonderful exhibition currently on display in Barcelona at La Caixa Forum, Delacroix, de la idea a la expresion, an exhibit that runs until May 20th. It is a huge, well curated exhibition done in conjunction with the Louvre, with works from collections in North America and all over Europe.

One of the main aspects of the show really addresses this issue of how an artist conceives of a work, and how it eventually turns out. I found it fascinating, for the highly talented, young Delacroix was always wrestling with the tension between the ideas that he had for paintings, mostly inspired by literature, political events or legends when he was young, and their execution. Eugene Delacroix even kept lists of ideas that he had for paintings and worked from these lists throughout his life, using them sometimes almost as talismans against the absence of inspiration.

Self-Portrait in Green Waistcoat,circa 1837, image courtesy of the Louvre.)

This tension between concept and completed work caused Delacroix much thought, and it was a subject he revisted often during his life. Writing in 1822 about painting and poetry (his early love was poetry which he forsook to be an artist), he observed that, "When I paint a good painting, I am not writing down my thoughts". He was very aware of that mysterious bridge that a painting builds between the artist, the soul of the painting and the viewer, a subtle, intimate dialogue.

Yet Delacroix often caused a great deal of controversy, especially in his early days as an artist. He was highly successful, yet his work was frequently vilified by the public and critics for the way in which he executed the painting. An example of the scandal he created was his 1827 painting, The Death of Sardanapalus, a huge work that harks back in energy and colouration to his hero, Peter Paul Rubens. Delacroix' original concept for this painting was, as documented by his Journal, inspired by the shock of reading about the despot, Sardanapalus, in Byron's poem. He devised a painting that was to be ferocious and somber, but in truth, that deviated from Bryon's account and the original accounts of Sardanapalus.

The Death of Sardanapalus, 1827/1844 oil on canvas, Eugene Delacroix, (Image courtesy of the Louvre.)

The painting, when completed, had strayed even farther from his original idea, for Delacroix had become entirely seduced by the curves, the colours, the play of light on skin and fabrics, the plasticity of what he was depicting. The model whom he used, first for pastel studies, and then for the painting in different poses, delighted him with her skin tones and forms. Gradually he selected different fabrics, different details, different poses and far more adventurous perspectives. When he had completed this picture, which was so transformed from its original concept, he added a new version of explanations in the 1827-28 Salon catalogue when he exhibited the painting. Now he talked of Aisha, a Bactrian woman who hung herself rather than have a slave put her to death – a story not talked of in the texts from which Delacroix had derived his inspiration for this painting. (Image courtesy of the Louvre.)

I am sure that every artist, having thought of a theme and concept for a work of art, sets about its execution, only to find that the results differ, sometimes widely, from the original idea. I know that it certainly happens to me, and I find myself looking with dismay and/or surprise at what has been produced. It is then somewhat difficult to judge if the evolution from idea to result has been positive or negative. Only time tells one the judgement. Delacroix, I am sure, found out the same thing as the public reacted to his paintings that had undergone quite an evolution from concept to completion.

Celebrating Drawing

I always love it when out of the blue, one learns of the celebration of the art of drawing.

Just a small entry in today's Spanish papers, but a good piece of news for all of us who think that drawing is just as important as painting. Miquel Barcelo, the highly successful artist from Mallorca, has just been awarded the Penages Award for Drawing from the Mapfre Foundation in Spain. In his acceptance speech, he talked of the fact that he finds that, " Es gracioso pensar que la pintura ha muerto y el dibujo no" -explicó en referencia a aquellos que dan por muerto este arte-. Como si muere Dios pero la Virgen María siguiese viva" ( a quote from the Diario de Mallorca, that it is somewhat ironic to think that painting has died whilst drawing survives, as if God had died but the Virgin Mary remains alive). He received the award in Madrid, with Princess Elena present at the ceremony.

Barcelo's drawings and etchings are indeed a delight with their fluid ease and grace.

Marche de Shange, la Jupe Verte (the Green Skirt),  mixed media, 2000, Miguel Barceló (image courtesy of the website of Paola Curti/Annamaria Gambuzzi & Co)

Barceló has spent a lot of tiime in Africa, especially in Mali, and his images capture the essence of Africa.

This 1999 etching is from his series of works from the Balearic island of Lanzarote, entitled Lanzarote XXV, courtesy of ArtNet.

This is another of the Lanzarote series, a wonderful depiction of dogs.

I delight when an artist celebrates drawing as does Miquel Barceló. He inspires us all to keep drawing.

Art in the Supermarkets

I read of a wonderful, imaginative initiative for handicapped people to create art for supermarkets in Valencia and Palma de Mallorca, Spain. I think it is an example that bears copying, no matter where.

This was a report written by L.R. in the Diario de Mallorca on 19th February about about 200 people with learning disabilities who are creating a special Catalan form of mosaics (trencadis) for murals for the different branches of the supermarket chain, Mercadona. The idea was first put forward in Valencia by someone involved with polishing ceramic tiles: there are inevitably broken tiles and these have traditionally formed the basis of trencadis. The most famous exponent of the use of the irregular tile bits, set in mortar, was Antoni Gaudi. He began to use the brightly coloured, broken pieces of tile in his adornment of architectural elements in Barcelona's hillside garden, Parc Guell at the beginning of the 20th century.

Part of entrance to Parc Guell, Barcelona

This is part of a dragon at the entrance to the Parc, done in these broken ceramic pieces. Beyond, all over the Parc, there are wonderful combinations of brilliantly coloured tiles juxta-posed in joyous - often sinuous - configurations. One of the advantages of this trencadis form of ceramics is that the surfaces can indeed curve, something much more difficult with regular whole ceramic tiles.

Below, these are two other images of Gaudi's use of trencadis in Parc Guell, Barcelona.

Various non-profit organisations involved with caring for people with Down's Syndrome or other learning disabilities got involved in the Mercadona supermarket murals venture. The first mural was done for the fish section in one of Mercadona's supermarkets in Valencia. It was so well received that the meat sections were soon chosen as the next destinations for murals. From there, the idea has snowballed and many more people are involved in the creation of these murals.

Understandably, when they first learn they will be creating a mural some 5 meters long, the participants are somewhat daunted. But they are first taught to sort the ceramic shards by colour. Then comes the assembly of parts according to a design, and as the pieces are placed together on a flat surface, a mesh is then placed over them to secure them. Eventually everything is united in the overall design and mortared into place. In the execution of these murals, there have been many benefits for the participants. They are gainfully employed and taught a new skill, which involves concentration, coordination and application. At the end of the venture, the participants are able to see tangible results which give people pleasure and interest, and they have achieved something they thought initially that they could not do.

To me, it seems the most wonderful alliance of art and skills to enhance the buying experience for everyone in a supermarket, while uplifting and reaffirming the spirit of those who don't always have such opportunities. Good for Mercadona and all those involved in the trencadis murals!

Beauty and Nature

I constantly measure my personal luck to have grown up surrounded by dramatically wild and beautiful scenes in East Africa, far away from any city. Later life has led me back to wonderful coastal spaces in Georgia and many beautiful natural areas remaining on Mallorca. So I tend to respond very quickly and with delight to beauty in nature wherever I find it.

I found a wonderful passage in Roger Scruton's book, Beauty, about beauty and nature. With his permission, I am going to quote it, as it bears reading virtually in toto. (I also heartily recommend this book, as it is full of thoughtful observations on beauty and the world around us.)

I quote: "From earliest drawings in the Lascaux caves to the landscapes of Cezanne, the poems of Guido Gezelle and the music of Messiaen, art has searched for meaning in the natural world. The experience of natural beauty is not a sense of 'how nice' or 'how pleasant'. It contains a reassurance that this world is a right and fitting place to be - a home in which our human powers and prospects find confirmation in many ways, such as on some wild moor, sky-filled with scudding clouds, shadows racing across the heather and you hear the curlew's liquid cry from hill top to hill top, the thrill that you feel is an endorsement of the things you observe and of you, the observer. When you pause to study the perfect form of a wild flower or the blended feathers of a bird, you experience an enhanced sense of belonging. A world that makes room for such things makes room for you."

These thoughts resonate with me and confirm my sense of beauty that helps inform my art-making. What happens when an artist only lives in a world of urban concrete?

Art as diary

Picasso - amongst all the other interesting things he said - remarked that, "Painting is just another way of keeping a diary." He was so right.

I have kept many drawing books, usually small so that they can be slipped into a bag as I travel, and I was going through some of them recently. As I leafed through the pages, memories came flooding back. No matter how quickly I did a drawing or painting, it still has the power to evoke. The place, of course, but the sounds, the scents, the other events surrounding my doing the art - all are connected to the art-making. I am not sure that had I only kept a written diary, I would have such vivid memories of all those trips I have made. Yes, I do keep a written journal, but I tend to record other types of things, such as names, people, events.

I think that art-making is always a record of where the artist is in terms of life and experience. Viewers may not always understand the art from the "diary" point of view, but the artist can always remember. Historically, there have been some wonderful diaries left by artists.

Two very famous ones are from Renaissance times. Albrecht Durer's 1521 diary of his trip to the Netherlands was a series of astonishing silverpoint drawings of places, people, sights that he experienced. He had kept other diaries before this one, but executing the drawings in unforgiving silverpoint is stellar work. Paper was still a precious commodity so Dürer used the pages on both sides and crammed things into them.

Albrecht Dürer ,animals drawn in the Coudenberg Place zoological gardens, 1521

The image reproduced was apparently done when Dürer visited Brussels and went to the Coudenberg Place zoological gardens. He also drew lions there and was generally fascinated by the animals. He went to this zoo in 1520 on his way to the Netherlands, and then did these drawings when he returned in 1521, on his way home.

Leonardo da Vinci, diary, Image courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Another very famous diary-keeper was Leonardo da Vinci. He kept notebooks in which he drew out ideas, made notes and calculations, basically evolving as an artist. This image is courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum, one of Leonardo's small, intense diaries, full of genius calculations, thoughts and observations.

Codice Atlantico, 1478-1518,Leonardo da Vinci, Image courtesy of the Ambrosiano Library, Milan

This is a page from the Codice Atlantico, a wonderful collection of pages of Leonardo's thoughts and observations, with 1750 drawings on 1119 pages, dating from 1478 to 1518. The Codice belongs to the Ambrosiana Library in Milan and constitutes one of the most amazing diaries an artist has ever kept.

Another artist, much nearer our times, who famously kept a diary was Frida Kahlo. In effect, most of the art she produced was about herself, a form of journaling. Nonetheless she formally kept a dairy too about her Mexican world.

These are pages from her journals. They are eloquent testimony to her spirit and creativity.

Today's artists don't just confiine themselves to diary-keeping on paper - video and photography are other means to record life. Nonetheless, a small spiral or moleskin journal slips easily into a pocket and goes everywhere with you as you navigate life as an artist. Try following Picasso's advice!

Connections to the Earth through Art

Sometimes life brings those wonderful connections and coincidences together to make a point in the art world, at least for me.

Last Tuesday, 7th February, the papers were full of news of the death of the great Spanish painter, Antoni Tapies, at the age of 88. I had always associated his work with the highly imaginative and almost mystical use of all kinds of materials, from clay, marble, sand and earth to cloth, always with an evocation of man's passage through life, with its pain and experiences that were grounded in his Spanish world. I remember being riveted by his use of ochers and other clays in a passionate series of canvases that were exhibited in Mallorca a long time ago.

As was reported in an article in The Nation, in 2004, Tapies spoke about his interest in "deeper, more serious colours" partly because he wanted to "feel close to the earth." "I have always wanted to get closer to the formations of the universe. Deep down, we are made of earth – and we go back to her."

Black I, mixed media, 2007, Image courtesy of Waddington Galleries, London

Tapies at his most tactile and Zen-like.

Then comes the coincidence that I loved: in a February 8th, Wednesday, Diario de Mallorca newspaper, there is a small item of news that forms a wonderful linking circle for me.

The famous Nerja Caves, in Andalucia, Spain, has a wealth of Paleolithic rock paintings dating for the most part between 16,000 and 20,000 years ago.

Rupestrian Art, Nerja Caves, Andalucia

However, it has just been ascertained that six of the rock paintings possibly date from 42,000 years ago, thus placing them amongst the first works of art created by man. Even more interesting is the hypothesis that Neanderthals created these rock paintings, not Homo sapiens. Quite a thought!

So a 20th century Spanish artist working for the most part in Cataluna, just up the east coast of Spain from the Nerja Caves, is hailed for his use of clay and other earths, and his deeply-held beliefs about humankind's mystical bonds with the earth. A few hundred miles and possibly about 42,000 years after early versions of mankind were virtually creating the same kind of mystical marking with the same clay materials. It certainly gives one a sense of perspective about what it is to be an artist.