For those of you for whom wall-to-wall TV coverage of the Olympics is insufficient, some history. New York’s Met holds a sizable collection of painted Greek terracotta pots, some of which describe sports from the ancient Olympic games. The premier event of the day – neither the marathon nor the 100m sprint, but the four-horse chariot race.
Forge painted figurative work, unhappily. Mid-career, he moved to the US and abruptly adopted abstraction. Painting just tiny dots and dashes he created luminous fields of colour, “like looking into a storm of confetti”. These are not abstract expressionism’s random gestures but careful decisions about colour and placement. Indeed, perhaps they aren’t really abstractions, rather “an in-between state, neither dissipating nor coalescing into an image or shape.”
Alongside the few superstars of art are multitudes who find limited success. Eardley seems to be one of the latter, acclaimed in Scotland but mostly ignored in England. She painted the children of the Glasgow slums and later, seascapes, her style reflecting the “twin orthodoxies of British art at the time, ‘kitchen sink’ realism and [American] Abstract Expressionism”. Sentimental or raw honesty – that’s where the debate about her work lies, unresolved.
Do cars belong in a contemporary art collection? As far back as 1951, New York’s MOMA recognized them as “rolling sculptures”. Of course, cars have greatly influenced popular culture. They appear as toys, are ever-present in mass entertainment and in online games. They are also a preferred symbol of status. Roads are a key part of the urban aesthetic. “More than any other single thing the automobile has changed our common view of the world”.
Expertly navigating the Vatican’s volatile politics, Bernini won favour with a succession of popes. Then along came Alexander VII who was ambitious to lift Rome’s fortunes. It was, says one critic “the greatest artistic double act in history”. For about a decade Alexander called on Bernini for sculptures, high profile architectural designs and urban projects. Together they “they took the ragged remnants of the ancient city and clothed it in Baroque”.
Now that opening celebrations have finished, a more considered view of François Pinault’s new Paris museum. The building, a grandiose but dilapidated structure, has become a “palace” its colonial aura obscured by ultra-modern renovation. Most artworks are by contemporary, big-name artists, some stunning but collectively lacking “coherence”. The place needs “a more committed curatorial and discursive approach [rather than celebrating] wealth”
One might expect Park Seo-Bo’s art to reference Korea’s turbulent history. Quite the opposite – his contribution to Dansaekhwa, Korea’s ascetic painting style, came out of an effort to “empty myself completely”. Approaching a work with a “lack of purpose in action”, he has created abstractions with mark making of “endless action and infinite repetition.” These acclaimed, shimmering works are, he hopes, a way to “stabilise the audience and restore them to peace”.
Big ideas in art can be difficult to navigate. Focus on them too closely and you lose originality; neglect them and your work may seem irrelevant. This dilemma didn’t bother Soutine – his originality was “tornado-like”. Cerebral De Kooning, despite being more reverential about art history, was attracted to Soutine’s embrace of disorder. In their different ways, both wanted to have feelings drive their art: “Neither of them was interested in behaving properly.”
A straightforward summary of Albers’ career and art. She opted for textiles because the Bauhaus prevented women going into painting. Once there, she showed weaving could be a modernist medium. Her career was marked by innovation – in materials, weaving techniques and aesthetics. She ultimately positioned weaving as a fine art and showed, via woven room dividers, it could also have a role in architecture.
Her mother’s sewing sparked Thomas’ interest in art. She produced figurative work until, late in her career, she was exposed to abstract expressionism and colourists like Matisse. Suddenly her work – and reputation – were transformed; dazzling, mosaic like abstractions in brilliant colours, inspired by nature. The swirling civil rights debate at the time had, it seems, no effect on her art: “I have sought to concentrate on beauty and happiness.” More images are here.
In 1345, Venice was rich, powerful, cosmopolitan. It could afford the best art and, for that, there was Paolo Veneziano. His speciality was lavish devotional altarpieces. These were mostly disassembled and sold off, but Getty has reunited some of these “masterpieces”. They show Byzantine as well as Italian influences, an inspiration to later Renaissance artists. Sadly, a focus on the devotional was prescient. The Black Death arrived in 1348, killing 60% of Venetians.
Generalisations often tempt us to ignore the facts. A data-driven view of art history reveals a woeful record of bias. Neglect of women is well known but there is more – neglect (or exclusion) of colonial life, the effects of industrialization. The point is not that individuals are unimportant but that the context of an art movement needs to be better understood. If this doesn’t happen, then that which is excluded becomes invisible to history.
Artists from smaller countries struggle to get international coverage. New Zealand’s Nicholls is a case in point. His mature work was a marriage of constructivism and environmental expression – rough timber, rocks, raw steel – that offer “both calmness and threat”. Recent smaller works reference the environmental impact of white settlement and offer “an aesthetic vocabulary” to consider “the nation’s colonial and environmental history.” Images are here.