Local boy makes good
Evan Anthony Life in Britain in November 1974 isn't all gloom; there is, after all, the Turner exhibition at the Royal Academy, and when shall we see its ' like again? Whatever the reasons for the National Gallery's peevish refusal to lend the now (even more) famous five paintings, it can be said that while they are missed, their absence in no way diminishes the ntiPact of this ravishing show. The superlatives are out in full force, and deservedly so. Of incidental interest, perhaps, is the sight of the experts practically crawling out of the woodwork, telling all to the general public — shocking tales _9x behind-the-scenes goings on, otscovering rolls of canvases long hidden and neglected in the bowels of responsible institutions like the National Gallery, at one time Mistaken for tarpaulins or such, Still waiting to be saved, cleaned,. an,d catalogued. Let us be grateful then for sentiMental occasions like a bicen tenary that move men to shake the dust from their heels and come up with an extravaganza of this sort, generating new while reviving old interest in the work of a homegrown genius, whose work may be seen even after March 2 when the Academy production closes–at the Tate, the British Museum and, of course, at the National Gallery. But here it all is, or at least a good deal of it, spilling over the fourteen galleries, of the Royal Academy, a testament to the genius of one of the busiest, if not the busiest of artists ever to have put brush to canvas. Anyone who has ever felt intimidated Or bewildered' by the application of the label 'genius,' would do well to see this particular exhibition. I should not be surprised if attendance records rival those set by the visiting Egyptians and Chinese – and how nice it is to see a local boy make good.
The last time a show of comparable depth and energy appeared on the scene was when Bonnard was given the full treatment several years ago, also at the Royal Academy. Then too, the enormous weight of sheer numbers, combined with exceptional quality, provided a rare glimpse of creative passion. Turner's ability to breathe life into his subjects is a fascinating thing to observe. He was a compulsive sketcher, a compulsive traveller, a compulsive recorder of all he saw and experienced. He was an obsessive personality, single-minded in pursuing an idea, and incredibly self-disciplined in his work. So much of his painting is tour de force exhibitionism that were he a lesser artist his pictures would be considered bizarre ratherthan extraordinary.
Robin Wade and associates have grappled with an enormous task and they have succeeded admirably. They have taken their unembarrassment of riches, a subtle miracle of organisation has been wrought, and out of chaos has come order and an opportunity to examine the notebooks, sketches, watercolours and paintings as they relate to one another chronologically. An arrangement in sections that trace his travels and their significance in his work makes the prospect of looking at more than 600 works less daunting than it might appear. Considering the number, the Academy appears full but not really crowded. The pictures have sufficient breathing space and the big paintings look particularly effective in the large gallery. Subject matter was important to Turner. Steeped in tradition, he was aware and appreciative of the masters who came before him. He also was eager to compete with them. His preoccupation with the effect of light began early in his career and eventually dominated his work. The subjects seem to be metaphors for his experimentation and the pictures are more than mere accounts of a music lesson at Petworth or the burning of the Houses of Parliaments. The later, almost astigmatic treatment of frenzied seas and skies are transformed into 'happenings,' veritable colour orgies. Like all good orgies, they leave you happy and exhausted.
One man's bicentenary is another's centenary. At Agnews in Old Bond Street, the anniversary of the death of Thomas Shotter Boys is commemorated by an exhibition of his watercolours and lithographs. A contemporary of Turner and Bonington, Boys was a skilful portrayer of London and Parisian scenes. The University of Nottingham has collaborated with Agnews to mount this exhibition to pay homage to a somewhat neglected figure and the considerable charm of Boys's pictures puts us in their debt for a pleasant reminder.
At the Maltzahn Gallery, Cork Street, some drawings and watercolours of Leonid Pasternak are being shown. The drawings are appealingly personal and warm, and an ink wash of Karl Pasternak, the artist's cousin, is good enough to make one hope that even if his daughters are reticent about selling too many more of his works that they will consider showing other pictures in the future.
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