'Walter Sickert' at Tate Britain

Tate currently has its first major exhibition of works by Sickert in 60 years at Tate Britain. I don't know much about him at all so this was a good way to find out. He had a long career, working from the 1880s to his death in 1942 so he lived and painted through the major art movements of the late 19th and first half of the 20th centuries. He worked in the studios of both Whistler and Degas and looks to have been particularly influenced by Degas, especially in the subject matter of his paintings. 

The first room of the exhibition is full of rather sombre self-portraits but I quite liked this self-portrait of Sickert as 'The Servant of Abraham' (1929) based on a photo of himself shown next to the painting. His palette for most of his career seems to have been rather dull and, apparently, Degas encouraged him to expand into richer colours.

I much prefer colour so noticed his 'Brighton Pierrots' (1915) straight away with its much richer palette and glowing colours. The costumes of the pierrots, the dusty pink suits, the colourful houses and empty deckchairs all combine to make this a colourful and mysterious painting. Degas had a fascination with music halls and cabarets and Sickert seems to have picked this up as well. Beside the pierrots is 'The Trapeze' (1920) with the vast expanse of canvas tent with the small figure of the trapeze artist about to jump and fly. I immediately thought of 'Miss La La' by Degas and thought this is Sickert's version of Miss La La.

Sickert seems to have had a fascination with Dieppe and Venice where he seems to have returned time and again to paint, as well as with Paris and London. There were quite a few cityscapes of those cities and a room full of the facades of cathedrals. I liked this one 'The Facade of St Jaques' (1902) with it's dramatic light effects as the sun hits the front of the cathedral leaving the street level in shade. I liked the detail of having a sign for a restaurant in the painting because, of course, wherever you go there is always a restaurant or cafe beside a cathedral. Sickert rarely painted the streets of London but I liked this one of the front windows of a drapers shop, 'Easter' (1928), named after the easter bonnets filling the shop window. 

Another painting that called to me from across the room was 'Bathers, Dieppe' (1902) with its vast expanse of sea and the people in their colourful bathing costumes. It reminded me of Sorolla's beach scenes with the excited waves and then I noticed there is no beach. Or sky. It's an odd composition in a way, seemingly focused solely on the middle ground. I like the sea and the many different colours in the sun and shadow as the waves gather and then crash on the shore. I couldn't help but wonder about the group in the black swimming costumes, presumably friends or workers on an outing, and wondered what they might've though about the men wading into the sea in their bright, stripy costumes (possibly the workers' bosses?). 

The final room of the exhibition was full of paintings Sickert did from photographs, including photos in newspapers. He painted a lovely 'Portrait of Degas in 1885' (1928) and painted famous people of the time from photos as well as significant events. These paintings were all in much brighter colours and the paint seems to have been thinned to provide a light covering on the canvas. Despite the brightness of the paintings, the one that touched me was 'The Miner' (1935-6) painted from a press cutting at the time which was displayed in a case nearby showing a miner kissing his wife as he returns to daylight after being on strike underground to shut the pit down. It looks grubby and drab and he carries a water jug under his right arm, other arm round his wife pulling her close. It's close-cropped and that emphasises the power of the image. 

And here is the painting of Degas.

'Post-War Modern: New Art in Britain 1945-65' at the Barbican

There's an exhibition of British art between 1945-65 at the Barbican at the moment and it's well worth seeing, it's almost a compendium of modern British art. The curators have obviously put a lot of time and effort into creating this exhibition and there are around 200 objects included, mainly paintings but also installations and objects. The exhibition is nicely laid out in the spacious upstairs gallery area with paintings grouped thematically although in one space I decided the theme was simply 'loads of colour'. That seems fair enough to me. It had works by the names you'd expect to see in an exhibition covering these years (Bacon, Auerbach, Bowling, Freud and Hockney) but it was the works by artists I'd never heard of that provided the real excitement.

It's a strange period for art, the 20 years immediately after the war, especially in Europe with our devastated cities including the major British cities. Artists who lived through the war with the particular memories they must have had, the wrecked cityscapes around them, the death, all must have influenced what they produced. Rationing of food continued into the 1950s, intellectual and practical arguments about what the future should hold, clearing up bomb sites and starting to build again and recreate cities and society with the help of those coming to Britain from the former empire and then the dawn of the '60s and hope and the world that led to today.

The first painting that made me cross the gallery for a closer look was this strange creation by Prunella Clough called 'Bypass I' (1960). What on earth is it about and what is it meant to be? I don't know. Is it a physical road bypass that exist all over the country to take traffic away from something or to arrive somewhere quicker? Or is it more like a surgery bypass operation? Or something else? I have no idea but I stood there trying to see a pattern, a repetition, a thematic trick that might explain it but all I saw was shape and a limited palette.  

A painter I haven't come across before was Avinash Chandra who started out painting Indian landscapes but moved to portraying the human body and I was fascinated by his 'Early Figures' (1961). He has two works in the exhibition but this, for me, was the more interesting since there was clearly something going on but I couldn't see what it was. The figures are obviously human (in some form) but what are those little flying things above their heads? Artists had been experimenting with depicting the human body for a long time before this was painted but it doesn't seem to be derivative of anything (that I can think of) so there's an obvious thought process going on here that was new and inspiring. 

I really like the playfulness of Jean Cooke's 'Through The Looking Glass' (1960), a lovely painting of some colourful flowers in their plant pots - how delightful - but on closer inspection you see that it's actually an elaborate self-portrait. At the back of the scene is a mirror and in it is a small reflection of the artist. I didn't realise this at first, I was just admiring the lovely plants and flowers and then she suddenly came into view as I scanned the painting. 

After wandering round I finally found a large painting by Frank Bowling - just look for colour and you'll find him - but to get to his work I had to pass three smaller works by Anwar Jalal Shemza and had to stop to take a closer look. I was particularly taken by his 'Still Life' (1957) with it's rich colours and solid shapes. Apparently Shemza often painted using Islamic themes but this painting fits into the long tradition of still lives using whatever was on the table in front of the artist (or constructed on the table by the artist) but rarely in such a rich palette. I'd be happy to have this one on my living room wall. The colourful Bowling painting was one of his dying swans from 1965 that I had to examine closely. 

In the same section of the exhibition as the Bowling painting is this one by Gillian Ayers, 'Break Off' (1961). I've got no idea what it's supposed to mean or represent and I suspect it's more of an emotional expression than anything else. But it caught my eye and made me stop in front of it and scan the canvas. 

All in all, it's an interesting exhibition and explores lots of different ways of creating images and paintings as well as photography and sculptures. It features 48 artists and around 200 objects, so it's a good size. It's on until the end of June so there's plenty of time to visit if you fancy seeing it. 

'The Corn Is Green' at the National Theatre

I've never seen 'The Corn Is Green' on stage and have only vague memories of the film with Katherine Hepburn and a young Toyah before she became a pop star. The perfect excuse for seeing the new production at the National Theatre.

It's a semi-autobiographical play by Emlyn Williams set in a little pit village in Wales before the First World War where children grow up speaking Welsh as their first language and are sent off to work in the local pit at a young age. That would've been Emlyn's fate if he hadn't been 'saved' and educated by an English teacher. That's the basic outline of the play, embellished here and there to create more drama and tension right up to the end. The old story of working class kid does good has been used many times but it still works and draws people in.

This production of the play was a bit odd in that it overlayed the play with the conceit of having the author in the play as well. It opens with a posh party, presumably in that there London, when the author escapes to get some fresh air and remembers his childhood in Wales, with the pitmen covered in grime and singing on their way home, and so the play starts. The author hovers around the action, intervening every now and then to point out that *that* didn't really happen, then rewinding the action to point out that *this* is what actually happened. And occasionally dancing with a sparkling flapper girl. At first I found that all a bit distracting, having the author as director, but then I ignored it. 

The lead as Miss Moffat, the teacher, was Nicola Walker and she gave a really strong performance, dominating each scene with an iron will to ensure that everyone will do her bidding. She faces resistance to setting up her school and gives up on the silly idea until she reads a short essay by one of the boys, Morgan Evans (played by Iwan Davies), and realises there is potential there so she can't give up the school. Over the years of teaching she decides to put the boy up for a scholarship to Oxford and he is selected so his future is secure. But then the bombshell arrives in the shape of a baby he fathered with the housekeeper's daughter...

I enjoyed the play and I really liked the largely bare stage with the company hanging round the edges of the set. I liked the references from the few English speakers that they couldn't understand the Welsh language of the locals, almost as if they were in India or Africa. The characters all seemed nicely rounded and believable (other the stupid squire character). Nicola Walker was excellent as the imperious Miss Moffat, the teacher who refuses to be a mere middle aged spinster but will still do something meaningful with her life. It's a powerful tale on lots of levels.

Ashton Triple Bill at the Royal Opera House

Last week I went to see three one-act ballets by Frederick Ashton danced by the Royal Ballet at the Royal Opera House. My last visit was about 6 months ago to see Steven McRae dance Romeo in 'Romeo & Juliet', his first return to the stage after snapping his Achilles tendon over two years ago. 

The first ballet was 'Scenes de Ballet', a piece I've never seen before. It didn't grab me at all although I liked the music by Stravinsky. The dancing seemed rather formulaic and I wasn't always sure what I was actually seeing. At one point I remember being distracted by the lads' tunics, thinking they would make great tee shirts and the Royal Opera House should sell them in its shop. I should be thinking about the ballet not tee shirts.

The second was 'A Month in the Country' with music by Chopin, a ballet I've seen before and I could sink into the comfort and story of it. A rich family living in the countryside in their grand house, the bored mother flirting with a friend, the father mainly absent, two children and servants when a new tutor for the boy turns up. Obviously, the mother and tutor fall in love but the daughter has set her sights on him and she denounces them to the father. It ends sadly, but the love is real. Natalia Osipova was excellent as the mother, flirtatious and sad by turns, yearning for more than her life has given her. William Bracewell danced the tutor who can't bear to hurt his love and leaves quietly. 

The final ballet was 'Rhapsody' with music by  Rachmaninoff and it was my favourite. I've not seen it before but the lead was danced by Steven McRae so we were in safe hands (or feet). It was a perfect match of movement to music with Steven leaping and jumping, running round the stage leading the other dancers then vanishing into the wings to let Anna Rose O'Sullivan do her dances. This is a great role for a male dancer to spotlight their skills and Steven took full advantage of it. And even better, he looked like he was enjoying it. He was a joy to watch and I'd love to see him dance the part again. 

I don't have any more tickets to see the Royal Ballet in the immediate future - my next dance is flamenco - but that day will come again. They're too good to miss for long.

'Carlo Crivelli: Shadows on the Sky' at the Ikon Gallery, Birmingham

Carlo Crivelli isn't one of the big names of the renaissance and he rarely gets mentioned but I've long been fascinated by his paintings in the National Gallery in London. The National Gallery has a good selection of his works in the collection and I would've thought if anywhere held an exhibition about Crivelli it would be there since it has so many of his works. Instead, the National Gallery is supporting the Ikon Gallery to hold the exhibition and has loaned four paintings to it, including two from its storage that I've never seen on the walls of the National Gallery before. 

The first thing I noticed on going into the exhibition is that it's in a big white room with a divider in the middle, acres of white walls. I'm used to seeing Crivelli hung on the richly coloured walls of the National Gallery, not in all this whiteness. The paintings are very spread out which emphasises the plainness of the walls but it also helps to focus on the paintings themselves. Crivelli's paintings are always packed with details so we have the colourful, detailed paintings against the stark, plain white of the walls. An interesting experiment. 

The first few paintings you come to are relatively small and one of my favourites was the painting of Mary Magdalene from around 1491-94. The figure of the Magdalene is set in a niche, almost as if she was a statue, holding a jar of oil, her symbol since she washed Christ's feet. Her hair cascades freely down her back and she holds her cloak out of the way of her feet. And then we see one of Crivelli's trademarks, her foot slightly over the edge of the ground she stands on - he does this time again using feet or random fruit or vegetables, his little trick to emphasise the three dimensionality he was seeking. To add more interest he's painted the wall of the niche as cracked and crumbling, which probably represents something to him and whoever commissioned the painting. 

On the next wall is a gorgeous, small Virgin and Child from around 1480 in a lovely tabernacle style frame. And it is gorgeous with the swags of hanging fruit behind the Virgin's head (another Crivelli trademark) and the delicate robe she wears. Then you see the Child's face. His hair hangs in ringlets and he's clutching what looks like an apple. In the background on the left is a lush forest but, on the right, is a dead landscape and a single dead tree. There's a lot going on in this little painting with life and death going on in the background, the lushness of the fruit, the Virgin as queen of heaven in her decorated golden robe... but what's going on with the Child? Is the apple meant to be the fruit from the tree of knowledge and he's clutching original sin to himself, perhaps hinting that he'll free us from sin through his own life and death? There's a lot to consider here.

One of my favourites in the exhibition was the large Virgin and Child from 1482 on loan from the Vatican. The painting was recently restored by the Vatican and it looks gorgeous. The swag of fruit across the top (with rather over-sized grapes) and the Virgin's robe spilling over the edge of the plinth her throne sits on cover Crivelli's trademarks, then there's the delicate cloth of gold behind the throne and, of course, the detail and richness of the Virgin's robe. The Christ is a toddler now with a rather ornate hair style, standing in his mother's lap and, once again, holding the apple. His green tunic reflects the colours in his mother's robe.

And then you notice the tiny figure kneeling at the Virgin's feet. The figures' robe is a Franciscan habit but who is he? An image of St Francis? or perhaps he's the donor of this painting? It was quite common to include a small image of the donor in the painting earlier in the century but that was an old fashioned conceit by the time this was painted so there must be a reason for including him. 

The painting that provides the title for the exhibition is a painting of another Franciscan and this is 'The Vision of Blessed Gabriele' from around 1489 and on loan from the National Gallery. I don't know who Gabriele was but it's quite a striking painting. He's kneeling in prayer in a rural setting with a vision of the Virgin and Child high in the sky. As ever with Crivelli, it's the details I always look for: his wooden sandals are off, the detail of the rope around his waist, a bible is open on the ground, the pond with a duck and another bird, the people on the road in the distance, the flock of birds in the sky, all the tiny angels in the vision and is that a cave behind him? He has the spikey halo of one of the blessed.

Another painting on loan from the National Gallery is the very large 'The Annunciation with Saint Emidius' from 1486. Most paintings of the annunciation focus solely on the Virgin and on Gabriel, but this is more like a cityscape with the annunciation right up front but look at all the activity in the background. It's odd having the saint with his bishop's mitre and holding an image of the church named for him alongside Gabriel as the beam of light from God's hand streaks down to the Virgin (through a handy gap in the wall, you'll notice).

What are all those people doing in the background of what is normally a private scene? I suppose it would be odd to have an empty cityscape and they certainly help with the perspective, getting smaller the further away they are. The painting might not have a swag of fruit at the top but it does have a vegetable sticking out over the ledge at the bottom. The whole city is very ornate with every surface covered in details and even the sky has drifts of clouds and a flock of doves. It's an incredible painting.

There are nine Crivelli paintings on show in total with loans from the National Gallery, the Vatican, the V&A, the Wallace Collection and the Gemaldegalerie in Berlin. There's also a small 'installation' by Susan Collis - I'm not sure why but I was there for the Crivellis. It's strange that this is the first exhibition of Crivelli's work in the UK - I wonder why he's overlooked? Maybe he needs some high profile fans to bring more attention to his works. I'm very pleased I went to see this exhibition and it seems to be doing well given the number of people who were there with me on a Wednesday afternoon. The exhibition is free to enter.