Four exhibitions
..and four very contrasting views of London. Over the past fortnight (spurred on by the knowledge that soon we shall no longer be living on the doorstep of several world-class galleries), we’ve been to see the Hogarth at Tate Britain, Gilbert & George’s Major Exhibition at Tate Modern, Canaletto In London at the Dulwich Picture Gallery and the Unknown Monet pastels and drawings show at the Royal Academy.
Being more or less contemporaries with each other, I expected there to be interesting parallels to be drawn between the Hogarth and the Canaletto. Canaletto’s original wide-angle lens viewpoints of the city were perfect, fascinating and visually delightful, whilst Hogarth concentrated on the characters living within this architectural skyline, the harlots, rakes and social-climbing couples. What I hadn’t anticipated were the links between Hogarth’s witty, mildly anarchic sketches and parodies of London life in the 18th century and the massive photographic works of the oddball duo of Gilbert & George. Both use religious symbolism in their work and both have a determination that their work should be designed to reach mass audiences. Both have a fascination with the East End underworld, with sex and death and disease and bodily fluids. Whereas Hogarth stuck mostly to painting giant boils on the faces of syphilitic whores and philanderers, Gilbert & George take bodily fluids to whole new levels, examining them under microscopes and filling walls with humungous turds.
Can you make sense of what Gilbert & George have tried to achieve over the past 40 years from this colossal retrospective of their work at Tate Modern? I’m not entirely sure, but I definitely feel closer to understanding them than I ever have before. There is a bleakness and isolation in their Dusty Corners series that many Londoners experience on a daily basis. The Dirty Words images of ‘70s graffiti, with the vibrant scarlet lashed onto the black and white palate, hit you more directly in the gut than punk music. There is poignant loss and grief in the homage to their friends who fell like flies to AIDS in the ‘80s. Their recent focus on the symbols of religious extremism is chilling and thought-provoking to the point that you felt bereft that their final Six Bomb Pictures, produced specifically for this exhibition and partly as a response to the July 7th attacks, was consigned to a corridor outside the exit, as it just seemed so important, so now, so in-your-face relevant, that you wanted it to blast at you from all sides of a giant room.
The Monet exhibition contains only a few pastels of London but I mention here simply because whenever London life has got me down, one walk over Waterloo Bridge at sunset, looking at the views which have changed immeasurably since Monet painted them yet retain his sense of openness and light, reminds me of what makes this city great.
REBECCA
Being more or less contemporaries with each other, I expected there to be interesting parallels to be drawn between the Hogarth and the Canaletto. Canaletto’s original wide-angle lens viewpoints of the city were perfect, fascinating and visually delightful, whilst Hogarth concentrated on the characters living within this architectural skyline, the harlots, rakes and social-climbing couples. What I hadn’t anticipated were the links between Hogarth’s witty, mildly anarchic sketches and parodies of London life in the 18th century and the massive photographic works of the oddball duo of Gilbert & George. Both use religious symbolism in their work and both have a determination that their work should be designed to reach mass audiences. Both have a fascination with the East End underworld, with sex and death and disease and bodily fluids. Whereas Hogarth stuck mostly to painting giant boils on the faces of syphilitic whores and philanderers, Gilbert & George take bodily fluids to whole new levels, examining them under microscopes and filling walls with humungous turds.
Can you make sense of what Gilbert & George have tried to achieve over the past 40 years from this colossal retrospective of their work at Tate Modern? I’m not entirely sure, but I definitely feel closer to understanding them than I ever have before. There is a bleakness and isolation in their Dusty Corners series that many Londoners experience on a daily basis. The Dirty Words images of ‘70s graffiti, with the vibrant scarlet lashed onto the black and white palate, hit you more directly in the gut than punk music. There is poignant loss and grief in the homage to their friends who fell like flies to AIDS in the ‘80s. Their recent focus on the symbols of religious extremism is chilling and thought-provoking to the point that you felt bereft that their final Six Bomb Pictures, produced specifically for this exhibition and partly as a response to the July 7th attacks, was consigned to a corridor outside the exit, as it just seemed so important, so now, so in-your-face relevant, that you wanted it to blast at you from all sides of a giant room.
The Monet exhibition contains only a few pastels of London but I mention here simply because whenever London life has got me down, one walk over Waterloo Bridge at sunset, looking at the views which have changed immeasurably since Monet painted them yet retain his sense of openness and light, reminds me of what makes this city great.
REBECCA
posted by Rebecca Dodgson | 3:35 pm
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