Art
Mellon watercolour
Evan Anthony
To own one Turner watercolour could be considered good fortune, to own a dozen, one would have to have a fortune. Mr and Mrs Paul Mellon do, and have pictures the way other people have mice. Fortunately, they are 'patrons of the arts,' nice people, willing to share their pictorial wealth with those of us who only have mice; and that go-ahead gallery, the Royal Academy, Is staging a show from their collection, English (the Mellons are American) Drawings and Watercolours 1550-1850, in its Diploma Galleries, with ceilings ' lowered ' to provide a suitably intimate setting.
Now nothing looks easier to do, when it is well done, than a good watercolour. A dab here, a splash there, and the marvellous effect of a watermark bring a figure or tree or building into focus with extraordinary precision. But of course it is a very special talent: the art of the watercolourist strongly depends, to risk a paradox, upon the ability to control the ' aesthetic accident.' Altogether, it is a quiet, gentle form of picture making, and this particular collection shows the virtuosity and range of a score of artists, with styles changing from subtle washes to exuberant colour, from immaculate rendering to impressionistic (before Impressionism) toning. Included among the ' English' are a few expatriates such as Jacques Le Moyne de Morgues, whose Young Daughter of the Picts is a particularly charming and expert example of the watercolour: The ' daughter' is gloriously covered with elaborately designed flowers — obviously the pick of the Picts! The native sons represented include Palmer, Stubbs, Constable, Blake, Rowlandson, Hogarth.
Which brings us to Colnaghi's, where Cornelius Varley is shown on his own, and quite successfully, too. His drawings and watercolours should appeal to those who find the Mellon collection leaves them crying for more. No admission charges here; you may buy a picture, though, if there are any left.
There should be enough of Tali's remaining at the Upper Street Gallery. Tali? "Tali," they say, " is a lonely poet asking nothing, living like a prisoner in this, his world." Well, that's not exactly true. He's asking £200 to £300 for collagepaintings that, I think, are supposed to be ' naive ' but clearly he's not too naive. His pictures are mounted swatches of hessian (or sack cloth) on which arrows, birds and, stylised animals and figures are painted. I was told that the sack cloth is from the very sacks in which Tali, an Italian, carried whatever you carry in sacks when you work in a quarry (which he did). He has come a long way from the quarry, but it is good to know that, should all else fail, he does have a trade to fall back on. The gallery is delightful.
At Grabowski's, Sloane Avenue, I have to declare an interest, having written the catalogue notes. But fair is fair, I wouldn't have done that had I not approved of the stuff, which is the work of Jules de Goede. I don't know whether de Goede considers himself to be a 'minimalist,' conceptualist ' or any other 'list,' but even without the clues or labels one sometimes grows to depend on, I find his work remarkably inventive and interesting. The spare, precise incisions he makes into the painted matt black and white canvases are compatible with the starkness he deliberately affects. I resist calling them 'pictures,' but they're cleverly composed, tastefully decorative and teasingly inscrutable. It is easy to admire his canvas surgery even when resisting the coolness of the operation. The knife is as mighty as the brush in this instance.
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