Treats and Tricks
Evan Anthony
As have trouser turn-ups and Jesus, academies may one day enjoy a revival of interest. In the meantime, the Royal Academy of Art should give some thought to ways of improving its image, or the public will be deprived (through their own foolish neglect) of the pleasure of seeing the current exhibition, Ensor to Permelte: Nine Flemish Painters, 1880-1950. I suspect that W. Vanbeselaere has a similar fear, having written in his introduction to the catalogue: "Will the 'Ensor to Permeke ' exhibition, one wonders, organized with minute care and great expectations both on the British and the Belgian side, generate enough enthusiasm via press, radio and television to inspire in turn the London public?" One can only hope so, but the emphasis placed on the importance of publicity raises a question about the je ne sais quoi that creates a successful Image.
Must the Academy resort to yet another poster, with two breasts bared this time, and risk offending the Festival of Light crowd? Should it consider borrowing an old Andy Warhol film from the ICA and show it in the main foyer as an added attraction? Would it be prudent to change the focus of the advertising so that the free parking facilities, rather than the exhibitions, are emphasized. Perhaps a reduction in admission charges would have some effect, who knows? Whether any, or all, or none, of these suggestions are followed, something had better be done — and quickly, judging from the nonattendance this past weekend. And this is really too bad, because the nine Flemish painters on show offer a visual and emotional experience that would be difficult for any other collection of 328 pictures to match.
While the star of the show is meant to be James Ensor, the other eight artists represented come over as much more than exhibition fillers. There is nothing bitsy about their contribution, there being enough examples of each artist's work to give you the opportunity to make a reasonable critical evaluation, should you wish to do so. Ensor's nightmare masks and skeletons are well enough known, but how often has one seen the earlier, darker pieces — the beautiful portraits of his father, his sister, and himself? Sombre Lady, a painting of his sister, Mieke, is one of the loveliest pictures in the exhibition — a disturbingly poetic figure, impressionistically realized. His surreal, symbolist pieces are provocative, but curiously unmoving. The famous (or infamous) The Entry of Christ into Brussels is more affected than affecting; the grotesque carnival atmosphere is altogether too heavy-handed. His use of bright and gaudy colours is more successful in pictures like the Van Goghesque Flowers and Vegetables, where the richness of the palette doesn't compete with the theatricality of the subject matter. The drawings and etchings show still another facet of Ensor's talent; there is no faking of detail — each line makes a statement. One must ultimately applaud a man who was able to offer such variety in his life's work.
For sheer beauty, Constant Permeke's Pretty Girl and Nude are hard to rival. The nude torso is exquisitely simple, at once sensual and refined. Leon Spilliaert's Gust nf Wind and Widow are fine examples of what can be described as quiet expressionism. The composition of silhouette forms against simplified backgrounds creates a haunting and moving impression. If space permitted, the list could be expanded, giving further proof that the Flemish contribution to the development of modern art was considerable.
Some are making the same claim for Eduardo Paolozzi's contribution to modern sculpture. At the Tate, his collection of bits and pieces of just about everything is spread out all over the place, the envy of anyone who has ever dreaded cleaning out the attic or glory hole. Born in Edinburgh in 1924, Paolozzi is described as "one of the most volatile of twentieth century sculptors." Looking at the display of silkscreens, drawings, construction etc., I can buy that description. The exhibition halls look like those places where they take aeroplanes that have mysteriously crashed, to label the parts in an attempt to determine what happened. There is an unmistakable air of busy, busy, all over the place.
But anyone as prolific as Paolozzi can't be all bad. There is, indeed, much originality in evidence, but it might have been better to resist putting on display every piece of scrap, metal, toy doll, or magazine cover that ever happened to cross his path. It is an exhausting show. and it seems impossible to mount a modern sculpture show nowadays without also showing films — with other films in the same room, screens adjoining.
Let's see now, what is actually in the show. Well, there's something called Bombs, a group of nine aluminium bombs painted white and connected together. Message: Bombs is beautiful? And then there is a collection of junk tossed into a tip, made of aluminium, called Waste (Cloud Atomic Laboratory). It's a trifle too self-indulgent to be taken as anything more than what it actually is. Some of the titles of things are pretty cute: Who's Afraid of Sugar-pin and Lime-green?; Stills for the History of Nothing. But it is becoming increasingly difficult to take this sort of hodgepodge good humouredly. I suppose it may depend upon the weather, or whom you happen to be with at the time, but how often can one be expected to fall about at the originality of collages of magazine covers that try hard to be clever, making ironic or iconoclastic statements visually? The man can draw, has one amusing idea in ten, and did some nice bronzes in the 'fifties. Now all he has to do is calm down and be a little selective.
Very selectively, the Japanese government, to mark the visit of Their Majesties the Emperor and Empress of Japan to Europe, has offered the British Museum some art treasures from the Imperial Collections for an exhibition. It is a small exhibition, tastefully arranged, and includes sections of scrolls, screens, maps and sculpture. The delicacy of line and colour are, as one would expect, quite superb, and looking at things dating back to the eighth, eleventh, and thirteenth centuries does inspire a certain amount of respect. The Portraits of Emperors and High Courtiers and A Scroll of Tahafusa-leyo's Romantic Words (fourteenth and thirteenth century) are among my favourites. The word, I believe, is charming.
Just a farewell note, until next April, to the Serpentine Gallery, having its last show of the season. Susan Grayson and colleagues are an enthusiastic group, and I cannot help but admire their policy of showing young, undiscovered artists. It helps me to forgive some of the excesses, like attempts to spray the grass pink, or an exhibition of paintings that are large canvases painted one colour and given names like Untitled — Blue. There have been the good things, too, and I wish them well in their efforts to make it a yearround venture.
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