Exhibitions
Spectator Cartoons (Alfred Dunhill, till 13 November) Rose Warnock (Gillian Jason, till 12 November) Leonard Rosoman (Fine Art Society, till 5 November)
Anniversary celebrations
Giles Auty
This is a time of year when new exhibi- tions proliferate not just in public spaces — fresh shows have just started or are about to take place at the Royal Academy, Victo- ria and Albert Museum, Hayward and Tate — but in commercial galleries great and small. I have missed a number of shows I would like to have seen and seen others I might have written about but for pressures of space. However, one I would surely be court-martialled for failing to point out is an exhibition of recent Spectator cartoons arranged as part of the centenary celebra- tions of Alfred Dunhill at that institution's plushy premises at 30 Duke Street, St James's, SW1.
All the works there are framed and for sale at a standard price per item of £50. The days when original works of art of other kinds were available at such a figure are long behind us, probably thankfully. On the other hand I sometimes meet those who drive £30,000 motor cars yet believe that original oil paintings should be priced still at £100 or under. Examples of works bought at Place du Tertre in Paris or at equivalent venues elsewhere are paraded by such folk triumphantly for my inspec- tion. I forbear with difficulty from telling the true story of a gang of Parisian gas- fitters, members of which habitually set up easels in Montmartre when finished with their other duties. None had any training in art, yet their productions managed to accord perfectly with foreign visitors' tastes. However, what becomes clear from seeing our current cartoon exhibition is that a sound training in drawing underpins most of the productions on view. The views on serious artistic issues of our cartoon edi- tor Michael Heath are generally sounder than those of many who ply my profession SO this emphasis need not surprise us. .With the annual Turner Prize hull-down still, yet looming into view now over the horizon, one faces once again the issue of Often unpopular art being thrust into Prominence. This is because those who run our museums and collections of modern art believe their role is to impose a view of What is significant in living art on the rest of us. But what would intelligent members of the public select themselves if granted the choice?
I have touched already on the phe- nomenon of private collecting of paintings — although at the lowest end of the scale. In some ways I admire artists who sell almost exclusively to private patrons; in theory the former can sleep secure in the knowledge that some people, at least, gen- uinely admire them. I thought about this 1,5sue at some length in the face of 24 paint- ings by the young artist Rose Warnock at Gillian Jason Gallery (42 Inverness Street, N11). Ms Warnock has an enthusiastic following for her charming productions. We are transported to Edens of the imagi- nation: primaeval and barely peopled land- scapes seen usually as though by some passing angel or premature hang-glider. Bonsai trees in a variety of unlikely hues do not grow high enough to conceal a lurking smilodon or date rapist. We are suspended somewhere between the prehistoric and the present in a never-never time: possibly a mercifully plague-free trecento.
The best painting in the show is of St Gerome who, although fictive himself, inhabits a slightly more credible landscape. Ms Warnock may see herself as a latter-day Pre-Raphaelite. If this is so she could not do better than follow the example of the real thing, taking as her touchstone works by John Ruskin and John Brett, co- topographers of real but fantastic moun- tains. Brett's 'Val d'Aosta' is one of the great landscapes of the 19th century. From a young artist who makes a living selling dreams of escape to a mature painter who confronts the present with wry elegance: Leonard Rosoman is 80, an event celebrated quite rightly by the Fine Art Society (148 New Bond Street, W1). Much of Rosoman's work is commissioned, his large and often complex figure composi- tions remaining way beyond the capacities of many who are half a century younger. The artist's sitters include Lord and Lady Irvine of Lairg, Dr Wendy Baron, the late Richard Eurich and the artist's superb feline, a korat called Huey. While Rosoman's is an individual anniversary, that of the London Group, likewise 80 this year, is celebrated by an excellent retrospective at Michael Parkin (11 Motcomb Street, SW1). The tradition set by predecessors of the abilities of Harold Gilman or Walter Bayes is upheld today at this independent artists' exhibiting society by artists such as Gus Cummins. While Cummins was a worthy winner just a few years ago of the equally valuable Hunt- ing Prize, my guess is that not more than 20 Richard Eurich & the Studio Window', 1988, by Leonard Rosoman per cent of this year's Turner Prize jury will have heard of him. Today a giant chasm runs right through the centre of British art.
Previous page
