Exhibitions
Coming on Strong
Evan Anthony
Any exhibition that boasts a section deliberately called The Hall of Destruction,' in which we see wobbling pillars representing stately country homes threatened by the demolition ball, while a voice (recorded) intones the names of those that have already crashed to the ground (against a background Of exploding bricks and mortar), can't be all good.
Dr Roy Strong, now at large at the Victoria and Albert Museum, Pursues his colourful career of lending a touch of PR razzmatazz to all he touches, hoping, perhaps, to wake the responses of those Who, he probably fears, would not appreciate the beauties and wonders of this world with only their own limited perception to guide them. Hence the techniques of Hyde Park Corner and student demo employed to stir the very Special masses coaxed into the V&A to lament The Destruction of the Country House. It is an erudite production, replete with photographs and memorabilia, and if the ultra-contemporary tone alienates the peasant in me while offending whatever there may be of more aristocratic sensibility, it could be objectively remarked that, left merely to browse, with the pictures and the Problems of keeping up with the .nedfords more rationally stated, it Is possible to emerge from the exhibition with greater interest in and sympathy with the idea that Public money, or at least tax concessions, should be considered as alternatives to demolition. _ Interestingly enough (as you will „see announced on this page), Mr '1Ugh Leggatt has joined forces with The Spectator in sponsoring a Ynnng writers' essay contest in Which a prize of 6100 is to be aarded for the best essay by a
th former on the subject of
e_ither The Destruction of the ‘-,ountry House or The Bicentenary hibition of the Works of J. M. W. urner (soon to open at the Royal
Academy). It is not specified that the writer must be for or against.
Meanwhile, at the Tate, the question of state patronage is brought sharply into focus by the Picasso to Lichtenstein exhibition, on loan from the Nordrhein-Westfalen Museum of Diisseldorf. The exhibition represents a bijou collection which has been acquired over a relatively brief period of time — the first purchases made in 1962
— with money provided by the West German government.
As there were no stipulations to take into account, we were able to establish quality as our single criterion for acquisition from the beginning. This is not intended as an historical collection. . . The historical context, without which even this 'piece by piece' kind of collection is obviously unthinkable, is established of its own accord almost as a side effect; it is never the reason for choosing a picture.
So goes Dr Werner Schmalenbach's neat explanation of why there are omissions that some may consider 'grave' if the exhibition were to make the claim of being a definitive mini-review of twentieth-century art. It is enough of a microcosm, be it side effect or frontal attack, and the collection should be awarded full marks for conveying, if not all the letters, at least a large part of the spirit of this thing called modern art.
The range of artists is wide enough to discourage complaint that a favourite has been left out — apart from the eponymous Picasso and Lichtenstein, Kandinsky, Matisse, Rothko and Rouault are but a few of the modern 'greats' squeezed in — and I should like to draw your attention to the lectures of Laurence Bradbury, who usually gives talks about the particular 'special' at the Tate on Thursday evenings at 6.15. The clarity of his analyses, entirely free from jargon, is all too rare in the art-appreciation field.
Would that the same could be said for the contributors to the catalogue accompanying the British Painting '74 show at the Hayward Gallery. That the show itself is a disappointment — indeed, let's be honest, a mess — could be forgiven, or at least forgotten, were it not heralded by some of the woolliest and unintentionally funny-peculiar logic available in the art world today. The directors appear to take the line that
confessing their own confusion is the way out of assuming responsibility for the exhibitions they choose to sponsor. "Andrew Forge, whom we asked to take on the present exhibition, outlines the method he employed in the introduction that follows. He opted for a selection system that combined devolution with autocracy, and it was his decision to limit the exhibi tion to paintings. Nobody knows at this moment what the next exhibition in the series will be." The uncertainty continues throughout the preface and when finally one reads the line that I take to be a complaint, "There has not been a large British painting show for many years" there is the temptation to ask why not — whose fault?
The numbers system used by Mr Forge himself would take too much space to repeat here, but I should welcome an explanation of what on earth he was going on about when he states, after giving us the magic formula, "What I hadn't foreseen was the way in which certain names would slip through the mesh simply because nominators had taken it for granted that they would be sure to turn up on somebody's list and they didn't. Where it was clear that something like this had happened by accident, I added the missing names to the list." What the accidents were that kept Bacon, Hockney, Sutherland, Pasmore etc. from the list one doesn't know, but considering the fuss made about having an exhibition of this sort, one would have wished for the courage of convictions rather than an apologia.
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