Art
Amusing the young
Evan Anthony
Having recently returned from the world of Disney (in Florida), thoroughly corrupted by the sunshine and the slickness and the smartness of it all, perhaps I
wasn't quite ready for the serious business of Kidsplay II at the Tate, prepared by the Education Department. The press notice advised that "Activity will not be free in quite the same way as last year but will take the form of structural experimental workshop sessions with expert staff giving a lead." Appreciative of the effort and the orange drink, I promise my intention, as I asked a question during the press conference, was simply to show a sincere interest. It seemed reasonable enough to inquire if there had been any liaison between the Kidsplay producers and schools and art teachers. The chairman reacted as though wounded by a poisoned dart, quickly warning that he knew the question to be a trap and that, furthermore (intimating he was no fool), he would step into that trap. It all boiled down to an unnecessary defence of Kidsplay as a project in no way attempting to usurp the duties and obligations of art staff in the schools. Actually, the one justifiable complaint any art teacher could make would be
based on the abundance of supplies including yards of Sellotape, quite unlike the weekly ration of two inches per student usually available in schools.
Naturally, with a staff of creative people to work on the problem of popularising the virtues of creativity, it turns out all good fun of the 'adventure playground' variety, with that little touch of significance imposed upon it to legitimatise the effort. One of the announced aims was to relate the activities to specific paintings on view at the Tate, and despite a three dimensional version of a Matisse, and a sweet little Van Gogh chair, I don't think the kiddies will give a damn. But here is a safe and pleasant place to leave the children for ninety minutes, should you be able to get into one of the "structural experimental workshop sessions."
More exciting and original, for grown-ups, as well as their offspring, the Camden Arts Centre has a super-engaging show called Soft Art, The Centre frequently tries hard to enlighten and do worthwhile things but this time has managed to do all that and more — with panache. Charles Spencer has arranged the exhibition and is to be congratulated for doing a fine job. He has assembled a witty and often ingenious collection, The gimmickry goes beyond the cute stage and the international artists invited to participate have responded with enthusiasm and flair.
Yarrnolinsky's 'rope forest' and Nicola's 'fur environment' entice the viewer to participate, and in the latter case it will be interesting to see if the piece survives the enthusiasm of the multitude bound to visit the show. The Woolmark Foundation has provided material for the Woolart section of more than twenty-five items, of which Roy Adzak's Sit-on' bust and Rabascall's 'Crossword' are at least two that will move anyone to look at sweaters with new eyes.
Trying just as hard as Five Dutch Artists at the Serpentine Gallery. Their success is estimable. One of the five (or should we say two) is Reindert Wepko van de Wint who has, it appears, split himself into 'two and produces work either as Joc hum or Rudi. I do not know who he was when he painted the 'seascapes' but the fear expressed by his biographer, Cor Blok, is groundless: "Hopefully, the present exhibition will not result in Van de Wint becoming known as 'a painter of Seascapes'." Jules de Goede has added to his 'Incision' pictures some finely painted lines, which in one or two instances lend a touch of elegance to the austerity of his surgery. Douwe Jan Bakker's popup (out) wood carvings are amusingly confusing.
And then there is the solid, no-nonsense recording of Bird Drawings by C. F. Tunnicliffe at the Royal Academy. A 'must' for ornithologists and lovers of bird illustrations, Tunnicliffe has impressively catalogued his feathered friends in hundreds of paintakingly executed sketches. The details are dazzlingly accurate — Tunnicliffe draws from death. No, he doesn't kill the birds, but finds them or has them sent to him and then records their every feather.
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