ARTS
Exhibitions
The Last Romantics (Barbican Art Gallery, till 9 April)
Many a bosom bared
Giles Auty
Less than a quarter of my way round The Last Romantics, the vast show on view Currently at the Barbican, this week's headline swam effortlessly into my con- sciousness and lodged there immovably. I intend no self-congratulation in suggesting it would make a more apt and accurate title for the exhibition itself. Romantic has become one of the new rallying cries of those bored with an exclusiv6y modern reading of the history of art in the past 100 Years. However, considerable danger is courted now by deliberate or unwitting misuse of the term romantic. The Roman- tic movement formed one of the great thrusts of European as well as of British art and I would be among the first to defend its Principles. The movement arose in the 18th century as a reaction to scientific empiric- ism and the Age of Reason. Its precise Parameters may be inexact but one had not foreseen previously the likelihood of so strong an identification of the word with what amounts largely to romantic whimsy. I am appalled by this particular develop- ment, for the full title of the exhibition, The Last Romantics: the Romantic Tradi- tion in British Art, Burne-Jones to Stanley Spencer, appears quite specific. We are not dealing, in short, with some random agglomeration of artefacts chosen purely from personal liking, but with an exhibi- tion which one might expect to be a visual demonstration of its title. No doubt the ehoice of such titles is a crucial factor in attracting public response. The present one is taken from a poem by Yeats: 'We were the last romantics -- chose for theme/ Traditional sanctity and loveliness.' The Poetic source is not especially important and will remain unknown, in any case, to most of those who visit the show. I have taken issue in recent years with the grow- ing inaccuracy of the titles of major exhibi- tions of a public nature, but the present naming seems misleading to an unpre- cedented degree. From the title, the in- escapable impression is given that we are dealing with the last exponents of romantic art in Britain who died out, apparently, with Stanley Spencer. What is really on view, however,- is a selection mostly of narrative painting, illustration, printmak- ing and sculpture from the years 1880- 1940, some of it of very doubtful merit, beginning with the works of the pivot of the exhibition himself, Edward Burne- Jones. I strongly question whether any of the Pre-Raphaelites belong to the true Romantic tradition, least of all the man who led them into final decline.
As a major protagonist of Burne-Jones, the originator of the present exhibition, John Christian, seems as blind to the
artist's faults as he is confused about the entire history of romantic art. Words such as romantic must retain some agreed and reasonable meaning if we are not to be plunged into semantic and art-historical chaos. In his worthy book on neo- Romantic art in Britain, The Spirit of Place, Dr Malcolm Yorke writes: 'As a cultural phenomenon English Romantic-
ism might be said to begin around 1780 when Blake first exhibited at the new Royal Academy. By 1840, when Victoria was already enthroned, its strength had passed.... Even though Turner was still alive and creating his astonishing late works, English art in general, by 1850, was well down its slide into the emptily pic- turesque, mawkish anecdotalism, border- to-border symbolism and exotic trifles all weaker by-products of the vigorous Romanticism which had gone before.' I heartily agree.
John Christian's avowed aim was simply to span the gap in time between the works of the Pre-Raphaelites, as exemplified by the popular Tate Gallery exhibition from 1984, and those of the neo-Romantics, subject of that stimulating show, A Para- dise Lost, presented at the Barbican in May 1987. One problem arising from this aim is that Mr Christian was led thereby to exlude Graham Sutherland and John Pip- er, who were not only central to the latter exhibition but vital also to the true roman- tic revival of the Thirties and beyond. I am sure the name of Henry Moore would not have been discussed in this connection yet he, too, was far closer to the romantic spirit exemplified by such as Blake, Pal- Damsel in a diaphanous nightie, from J.W. Waterhouse's 'Lamia', c.1905 mer, Cotman, Calvert, Ward, Bonington, Constable and Turner, all of whom stood artistically head and shoulders above any- one included in the current show, with the exception of Stanley Spencer. Coming, almost at the last, to Spencer's two superb early paintings 'Zacharias and Elizabeth' and 'The Nativity', I could hardly suppress a shout of relief.
There are 557 works altogether and by the time one has walked past a good few acres of damsels tiptoeing in and out of diaphanous nighties, seashells, bathtubs and rosy bowers my sympathies began to lie increasingly with the sea serpents, dragons and other scaly ne'er-do-wells who were assailing them. According to this misplaced conception of romanticism, the baring of one or more breasts was clearly de rigueur for pastimes such as archery, needlework, listening to music or merely waiting for (k)night to fall. Few of these maidens look convinced by their chances: more lose some than winsome, one is tempted to say. Juno's comely attendant in Waterhouse's 'Echo and Narcissus' made the fatal mistake, repeated so often by package tourists, of not ignoring young Greek men lying about near pools. She has cause to look anxious.
I do not suggest there was anything wrong with the painterly abilities of Water- house or the likes of John Melhuish Strud- wick, J. R. Spencer Stanhope, Evelyn de Morgan, Herbert James Draper or Thomas Cooper Gotch. Even some of the less exotically named artists could paint like angels. The objection is that so many did, in fact, paint angels — when they were not painting fairies, witches, swains, sirens and the like in mélanges of the mythic, mystic and mediaeval. To borrow from Clive James, many of these images 'grip you like a marshmallow'. The exhibition catalogue devotes a large section to fairyland.
While the show displays the abilities of major illustrators such as Rackham and Dulac, it reminds us that many painters, too, could show up better in a smaller medium: the woodcuts, drawings and etchings especially of Strang, Shannon, Robertson, Russell Flint and Edward Frampton are among the best things on view. Often lack of colour adds to rather than diminishes mystery: James Guthrie's tiny etching, 'Clouds', has an intensity of vision lacking in so many of the large, vapid, formal paintings. Burne-Jones's 'Vespertina Quies' and Simeon Solomon's 'Love in Autumn' contain passages either of poor painting or sub-standard restora- tion, while Cecile Walton's 'Suffer Little Children to Come Unto Me' reminds of nothing so much as Walt Disney. A far truer understanding of the continuing romantic tradition in British art from the inter-war years might have been provided by the inclusion of such as Ravilious, Bawden, Frances Hodgkins and Algernon Newton. What a relief they would have provided from the elfin pool.
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