The Tale of the Merry Friar of Tynemouth

Last week I had the joy of visiting Tynemouth Priory in glorious sunshine and blue sky. The Priory was built on a promontory overlooking the cold North Sea at the mouth of the River Tyne and has been in ruins for centuries (courtesy of that Henry VIII). I had a good wander around the ruined church and living quarters and, when I was standing in the refectory I remembered the tale of the merry friar and his love of fish and chips.

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Many, many years ago when the world was still wild and stout hearted men carried swords to protect themselves and their families and women wielded strange powers to protect their menfolk and families, the black friars built a mighty church to the glory of god. They built a great castle and dug a moat to protect their priory on one side with all other sides protected by the harsh seas. A small town grew up near the Priory to trade with the friars and their visitors. The friars used to visit the town and other towns and villages and carried out their good works.

Some friars enjoyed their visits to the towns more than others and often rested in local taverns and inns sampling the various brews and meads, including mead from Lindisfarne further up the coast. Friar Bernard was one of those who enjoyed a brew, especially in front of a roaring fire on a winter's night. He enjoyed several brews. He was a popular friar and made friends with the local birdlife, trying to emulate the famous Francis who preached to birds. Many seagulls would sit and listen to Friar Bernard in the hopes that he might have a spare bit of fish in his pocket.

Friar Bernard was partial to eating fish and chips for his Friday dinner (occasionally with mushy peas on the side) and he looked forward to a pint of beer to wash his fish and chips down with. One Friday, however, there was a great storm that flooded the larder and all the food was washed away into the raging sea. Friar Bernard immediately knew what to do and he took off his shoes and bound up his robes as he set off to swim across the moat to go to the local tavern that had recently started selling fish and chip luncheons. He collected several portions of the best fish and chips and, holding them above the water, he swam back across the moat to the priory, telling the seagulls to stay away as they hovered, ever hopeful.

When Friar Bernard got back to the refectory he was lauded and given the seat of honour near the fire where he stripped off his robes and hung them up to dry while he indulged in his favourite meal. To save him from catching a cold his brothers gave him more beer and some medicinal mead and let him doze by the fire all afternoon.

The tavern owner, ever with an eye to turning a profit, changed the name of his tavern to the Black Friar and painted a new sign of a merry friar with rosy cheeks and spread the tale of Friar Bernard far and wide to get more business. He succeeded and opened more taverns using the Black Friar name. In thanks, he always gave Friar Bernard a free pint of his best unwatered beer for luck. Friar Bernard was quite happy with this arrangement until he decided to go off on pilgrimage to sunnier, southern places. We lose track of his movements except for rumours that he ended up in the court of the King of Aragon in Spain.

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It's a strange tale, a bit garbled as it's been passed down through the centuries but it's undoubtedly true. I often visit Blackfriars station in London so it must be true.

'Present Laughter' at The Old Vic

I'm told I saw 'Present Laughter' at the National Theatre 11 years ago but, you know what? I can't remember it at all, so seeing the play at the Old Vic last week was like seeing it for the first time. It's a star vehicle for Andrew Scott and he ably proved himself worthy of the honour - he has the best part and the best lines, of course, but he pulled it off to perfection. Who knew he was so good at comedy? He was, however, matched line for line by Sophie Thompson as his secretary whenever she was on stage - they made a great double act and it would be fun to see them on stage together in another play one day.

It's a Noel Coward play so you expect it to be witty, charming, upper class, lots of word play and a bit risqué. It's the tale of Garry Essendine, a famous actor, and his little coterie of friends who are also his managers and advisers and who've known each other forever. His swanky apartment is also his office where his secretary of 17 years works along with his manservant and maid. There's also his ex-wife, a current one-night stand and a young playwright who seems to be in love with him.

There is also the husband of one of his managers, an outsider who's wormed his way into the coterie and this was where it got interesting since the simple trick of adding an 'e' to Jo changed the character from female to male who wants an affair with Garry. The play is played 'straight' (so to speak) with no reference being made to the genders of the lovers so two men having an affair is nothing remarkable. The gasps that went up from some parts of the audience at the first kiss between the lovers were a comedy moment in themselves.

The play takes place over the few days before Garry is due to sail off to do a tour in Africa before his next play in the West End. What could possibly go wrong? Well, everything really, and that's where the fun begins with the play opening with Garry's latest one-night stand waking up in the middle of the living room madly in love with the older actor who she met for the first time last night at a fancy dress party and him not even remembering her at first.

It's a very funny play and this was a great production with a largely great cast. I was very impressed by Andrew Scott who deserves all the praise he's getting for this production, ably showing his versatility and ability to carry the production. I loved Sophie Thompson as Monica, his secretary, with her delicious Scottish accent and swanning around in her wide trousers for much of the play. She has a sharp tongue when she wants and, towards the end, there was just a hint of a long-hidden love for her boss, a really delicate performance after all the ribald comedy and fast talking.

I also liked Indira Varma as Liz Essendine, Garry's ex-wife who is still part of the scene as an adviser and protector. I've seen her in a couple of Shakespeare plays in the past (including playing the mighty Tamora, Queen of the Goths in 'Titus') and liked her performances so it was good to see her in a modern play doing out and out comedy. She was great fun. I'll also give a shout out to Joshua Hill as Fred, the manservant, who gave a great performance in a small but important part, a wide-boy who's fiercely loyal to his boss. Garry can't be that self-centred if he inspires such loyalty.

This production is thoroughly recommended - get yourself a ticket and relax into it. Oh, and remember to say 'darling' a lot.

'Cutting Edge: Modernist British Printmaking' at Dulwich Picture Gallery

The latest exhibition at Dulwich Picture Gallery is 'Cutting Edge' that focuses on the works of former students at the Grosvenor School of Modern Art in London in the 1930s and their exploration of the potential of linocut printmaking, hence the title of the exhibition. I've seen some of their works on greetings cards in the past and bought them so visiting the exhibition was an obvious next step. The tutor at the Grosvenor, Claude Flight, apparently championed the art of linocuts since he saw it as an egalitarian form of art and method of printmaking that anyone could practice. I've never done linocut printing but I'm tempted to have a go now (and the Gallery shop sells linocut kits).

One of the things that attracted me to the prints was their simplicity and colourfulness. For an ostensibly simple form of print-making they are, actually, quite complex, using different linocuts for each colour. They are, clearly, decorative but they're not just pretty pictures, these are works of art. This print by Ethel Spowers ('The Gust of Wind') really caught my attention. One of the signs in the exhibition, if memory serves. noted that the prints were so popular their cost soon outstripped the pockets of the 'ordinary people' who Flight had originally thought would benefit from the art form.

That's a bit sad, really, since this is an egalitarian form of art, as opposed to the giant canvases other artists were producing at the time and ever since. Most of these prints were around A4 size and suitable for any wall, not just for the rich or corporate collector.

One of the joys of the exhibition was seeing such a wide variety of approaches to printing, sometimes single images like a painting and other times multiple repetitions of the image. It also seemed to generate new approaches to depicting the figure to fit multiple figures into a small space and that clearly suggests that thees artists were accomplished in their art and were experimenting and pushing forward the accepted boundaries. Look at 'Hyde Park' by Sybil Andrews from 1931 where the bodies suggest leaves and the heads and hats are flowers or fruits. How effective is that and how appropriate for Hyde Park?

This is something that continues throughout the exhibition, the simplification of forms, not only to fit the area to be printed but for the sake of it. How simple can they make it and still make sure it's recognisable in whatever format it's reproduced?

Another Sybil Andrews print I was taken with was her 'Fall of the Leaf' in which everything is curved, the tree tops, the trunks, the land around the trees. That isn't how the English countryside looks but she unifies it to make it work. Another simplification of the form but still recognisably as trees in a farming landscape.

The artists tried their skills in familiar picture-making, making the picture fit the format. Cyril Power's 'Monseigneur St Thomas' from 1931 fits the bill with it's simplified shapes and colourful repetitions. Is there a straight line in this print? The arms curve into the swords that attack the saint while his body shrinks into curves to protect himself. The colours are also very clever, with the yellow background and the orange tunics of the murderous soldiers. There's also a lot of detail in this print, like the shape of the helmets (with nose-guards, of course), the belts to break up the orange of the tunics and the brown shields, each soldier dressed identically but in different positions. It's small but effective.

I think that's one of the things that really made it's mark on me, that small and simplified shapes can still be powerful irrespective of the topic of the work.    

There was a  series of prints about sports and motion that were really very effective with the use of repetition and restricted colour palette. Cyril Power's 'Skaters' from 1932 and his 'The Eight' rowers from 1930. Again, the repetitions of shape and colour giving the impression of speed and movement, the restricted colours and the simplification of shapes while still being recognisable, all of this is very effective. The other members of the group also created sporting prints including Lill Tschudi and Sybil Andrews.

I was very taken with a series of prints by Cyril Power focusing on movement and transport using London buses and tube trains, scenes of tube stations and commuters into small spaces to get to work.  His 'The Escalator' from 1929-30 is a great example and reminds me of one of the escalators at Oxford Circus tube station today (without the colour, of course). The glorious oranges and reds speed you to the far away surface and work or home, almost the reverse of the descent into hell with a single passenger on a desperate journey into who knows what might be at the top.

The drudgery of modern mass transport is shown in 'The Tube Train' from 1934 with passengers sitting in rows, all with their newspapers to avoid having to look at or interact with other passengers, almost the same as today except most of today's passengers would be looking at their mobile phones. Things change but stay the same. The print has a claustrophobic feel to it, so many people crammed into a small space as they move onwards in a dark tunnel. I particularly like the detail of the straps hanging down for those unfortunate enough to have to stand and the passengers' feet not quite touching.

Another great print by Power is 'Whence and Wither?' from 1930 with the unknown hordes going down on an escalator, standing on the right, walking down on the left while no-one uses the stairs beside the escalator. How true.

A final print I'll show you is more cheerful and very still, 'Corner of the Garden' by Dorrit Black from 1936. All sorts of subjects and themes can be tackled using linocut techniques and I like the stillness and charm of this print, no rushing round like a mad thing, just the simplicity of a well tended garden.

It's a lovely exhibition and I'd recommend a visit. Because the prints are relatively small then there are a lot on show with a wide variety of subjects. The colours are quite often more vibrant than my photos suggest and the curators have arranged them very well to show them off properly. Well done Dulwich Picture Gallery on a really enjoyable exhibition. 

'Edvard Munch: Love and Angst' at the British Museum

The exhibition about Edvard Munch's prints is about to close at the British Museum but I managed to squeeze in a viewing so as not to miss this rare opportunity to see his prints rather than his paintings. Munch is famous for one painting, really, 'The Scream' and he also produced a print of it in black and white which is in the exhibition. That painting sort of says a lot about Munch and his works, rather psychological and depressing, but I also think of his paintings of his garden that I saw at the Royal Academy a few years ago, bright and colourful paintings. That gave me hope that there might be some moments of joy in this exhibition since the title includes the word 'love' as well as the expected 'angst'.

One of the first exhibits was a couple of prints in different colours printed from the same block. What made them really interesting was that the wooden block they were printed from was also on show in a glass case beneath them. It was great to see a concrete example in front of you of how he worked, how he started to create his prints. Apparently, instead of using different blocks for different colours he sometimes used different colours on the same block. It worked, but I wonder why he decided to try it out?

As with turning 'The Scream' into a print, Munch used others of his paintings as the basis for prints. He did several paintings of a couple beside a window, embracing or kissing, and he turned this into a print but decided that the couple should be naked in front of the window, oblivious to the world, lost in their own moment of passion.

Their faces appear to be joined, melted together in their passion and love, so close that nothing can come between them. It's a lovely print with some simple lines used in showing the contours of the body. It's simple, it's small and it's in black and white and it's very effective, catching the eye from across the room. If nothing else, this shows that Munch can really draw.

Another print that caught the eye was 'Madonna', but this isn't the kind of picture of a Madonna that you might expect. This is a sensuous woman, naked and exposed. In the border of the print is a stream of swimming sperm in a blood red background and a crouching foetus. What's that about? One of my initial reactions was surprise that people knew what sperm looked like way back then.

It's a very arresting image with the woman almost appearing to be swaying, mesmerising the viewer, while the border seems to suggest that procreation and pregnancy (wanted or unwanted) isn't just the job of the woman, but the man has an essential role as well. Apparently, around this time Munch was questioning his previous championing of free love and, perhaps, considering the implications of free love.

One of the most striking prints was descriptively called 'Woman with Red Hair and Green Eyes: Sin' from 1902. An impossible mass of red hair tumbling over her shoulders and breasts with those strange staring eyes - what's she looking at?

As a famous painter in his day, I didn't realise that Munch was also invited to design sets for plays and even design theatre programmes. Of course he would be, lots of artists have done that before and after him, but I suppose I get caught up in the whole 'Scream' thing where something so psychologically charged couldn't possibly be linked to popular theatre. There were a few examples of his designs and I quite liked this set design for Ibsen's 'Ghosts', a production in Berlin to commemorate Ibsen's death.

I like Munch's experimentation with the form of the print and also the British Museum's attempts to explain these sometimes complicated processes. A favourite print was 'The Girls on the Bridge' from 1918 which was, again, based on an earlier painting of the subject. This print is, apparently, made from a wood block as the base coloured blue printed with a 'zincograph' on top, i.e. three plates in yellow, red and green. I haven't seen the painting but I like the print.

About this far into the exhibition I gave up on my hopes for moments of joy in the prints. Impressive as they may be, Munch is not an artist for joy unless he's painting his garden. His view of love seems to be that it's doomed from the start so don't get hung up on it. I don't know that much about Mr Munch but he doesn't seem to have had a terribly happy life. He lived through two world wars which must have coloured his view of humanity, but he does seem to be an archetypal artist of pain and depression. This exhibition does nothing to dispel this impression. It did, however, make me wonder what he'd be doing now if he was alive. Would he have found any hope in the modern world?

One thing is clear, though, in that he would have continued to experiment with his art forms and this is demonstrated by a series of three large prints in the final room of the exhibition. The three prints of 'Towards the Forest' were completed between 1897-1915 and show lovers in front of a forest. He seems to have cut up the print blocks to get different effects in the prints. There may not be 'joyous' prints but maybe this is the joy of Munch prints, the perpetual experimentation and striving to create something new? Maybe the joy is that he never gave up despite everything the world threw at him?

Favourite Paintings: John Martin 'The Bard'

One of the first paintings I ever saw in a gallery was 'The Bard' by John Martin in the Laing Gallery in Newcastle, probably in 1976. Back then it hung on the wall high above the stairs where they made a final turn to the first floor. I don't think anything's been hung there for years and it's just a blank wall these days.

John Martin was a local boy made good. He was born in Northumberland not far from Newcastle in 1789 and he became one of the most famous painters of his day. He painted huge paintings and went on tour with the paintings around the country. There was an excellent exhibition of his work at Tate Britain in 2011, the first major exhibition of his work for many years. 'The Bard' is quite large but is dwarfed by his huge canvases with their vast, panoramic scenes. It is, however, a typical Martin painting with it's intense romantic subject matter.

The painting tells the tale of the last Bard in Wales, hunted down by Edward I's army and who throws himself off the cliff to certain death to avoid being captured. It's a mythical tale and typically romantic, being featured in a poem by Thomas Gray, but Martin takes the tale and runs with it to make it dramatic and bold, a brave Bard, the last of his kind cursing and defying the king, trusting his body to the river below rather than to the soldiers. Martin chooses the moment before he plunges to his death in the foaming river below. Wild eyed, his cloak billowing in the wind, the Bard holds his harp and raises his hand to lay his curse on the English king and his army. And, of course, we know he jumps shortly afterwards, giving his life to make sure the curse works.

Of course, the mountains of Wales are nothing like those in the painting and it's thought that these are based on prints of the Alps that Martin would have seen. Does that matter? Of course not. In the world of the painting this is an impossibly romantic scene and needs a suitable backdrop.

The huge army winding along and down the mountain on the left-hand side is huge, winding up and around the mountain passes and valleys. It's an impossibly huge army to put into rough mountains and it would be very foolish to have so many men chasing down one old man, particularly on those magnificent horses. But that's not the point. What matters is the tale the story Martin is telling.

The army shows the power of the king, with all this might pitted against an old man with a harp but we know that old man has power too and he doesn't need an army to back him up. His powers are ancient and mystical and come from the land he stands on.

This is a painting to awaken the imagination of anyone who is open to it, who starts to wonder about what's going on in the painting in front of them and immerse themselves in the tale. John Martin didn't paint pretty pictures, he painted tales and flights of the imagination, taking the viewer on a journey to who knows where. Is it any surprise that this painting has stuck with me over the years?

I try to visit the Laing Gallery whenever I visit Newcastle. It has an interesting collection and changes its displays quite regularly so I'm almost always guaranteed to see some paintings I've never seen before. John Martin's great works are always on display. Take a look the next time you're in Newcastle, entry to see the collection is free and it's a great way to get some peace from the people and traffic outside on the streets.

Imtiaz Dharker 'Alan or David or John'

I was leafing through a book of poems by Imtiaz Dharker this afternoon and found a lovely poem called 'Alan or David or John'. I can't find it online and it's too long for me to type out but it's wonderful in it's simplicity. It begins:

'You ask me how it all began. It began
with something unattainable. I fell in love
with an older man. He must have been
fourteen.'

And she tells how she fell in love with the boy who lived opposite her house when she was nine years old who's name might have been 'Alan or David or John'. She began writing notes and poems to him which he never saw and he never wrote back. His name might have been Colin or Donald or Sam. 

But someone started writing back to her, love letters in books she borrowed from the library

'... with their sonnets and their couplets
and their wee sleekit words,
Rabbie and Will and John.'

The love affair went on for years and continues today. The poem ends:

'You ask how it began.
It began, like everything, with love.
I wrote and they came, they answered on behalf
of the boy with no name,
Alan or David or John.'

To be a poet is a fine thing indeed.

Natalia Goncharova at Tate Modern

The work of Natalia Goncharova is one of the big Tate exhibitions this summer and this one is at Tate Modern. I thought I didn't know who she was but then I realised that I'd seen some of her work at an exhibition at the V&A about Diaghilev eight years ago where her designs for 'The Firebird' ballet for the Ballet Russe were on show. I'm pleased to say that I saw some of the designs reproduced when I saw the Royal Ballet dance 'The Firebird' at the Royal Opera House a few weeks ago with Itziar Mendizabal dancing the title role.

Natalia Goncharova was born and educated in Russia but moved to Paris in 1921 where she lived for the rest of her life. She had her first exhibitions in Moscow and St Petersburg before the First World War and was part of the avant-garde in Russia, being a member of several artistic movements including Der Blaue Reiter in Germany and developed Rayonism with her husband Mikhail Larionov. She died in 1962. Her story reminds me of Sonia Delaunay, both marrying artists, both developing new theories of art, both moving to Paris, both working in abstraction, both designing clothes, etc. Sonia was a few years younger than Natalia and died a few years after her. I assume they must have known each other and must have met.

The first couple of small rooms of the exhibition include the early works you'd expect to see in an exhibition but then you move through into the next room, very big and flooded with light. The room is usually divided into smaller spaces but opening it up like this was inspired and a nice surprise. One wall is dominated by the work called 'Harvest' (above) which was originally made up of nice panels but two are lost. This work was part of her first exhibitions in 1913 and 1914 and seems to be based on the tales of the Biblical Apocalypse.

The other walls contained a wide range of mainly larger works, some in her primitive 'cubist' style, others seem to be more along the lines of the Blue Rider and others were simply her own. I loved the bright green parrots, the gardens with graceful trees and flower beds and the paintings of flowers in bright and airy paintings. Part of a wall was filled with an impressive array of female nudes in very different styles.

Further into the exhibition I found this painting, based on Russian embroidery styles. I loved the colour and the repetition of the patterns, a very complicated and detailed design. 'Design with Birds and Flowers' was a study for some textiles she was producing in around 1925-28. Quite a lot of her work seems to have its roots in Russian folklore and folk art.

There are lots of different types of works in this exhibition, not solely paintings. There are dress designs and stage costume designs as well as drawings of stage sets, there are book illustrations and photos of Natalia as a young woman. There are also her modernist versions of traditional Russian icons that seemed to please no-one except herself, with the avant-garde not accepting them as legitimate works and the church not accepting them as icons.

The final, large room of the exhibition is given over to her theatrical work and designs for the Ballet Russe and others. I couldn't help but break into a huge grin when I walked in and saw the costumes in big glass cases while the walls were covered in design sketches and mock-ups. It was interesting to see peoples' responses when they entered the room, with some heading straight for the walls and the framed works while others headed to the costumes - I assume some were more interested in the textiles and how they were made up while others prefer exhibits on paper?

I didn't recognise the play or performance many of the set designs were for but I loved this one - imagine being on stage surrounded by all this wild colour and imagine being in the audience? I wonder if it was ever actually built? It looked like it was all great fun and some of the costume designs were totally over the top.

Something I recognised immediately was the backdrop to the final scene in 'The Firebird', the mythical town with its wild array of buildings going up and up towards the sky. I'd seen a reproduction of this a few weeks ago at the Royal Opera House and I saw what I think was the original filling an entire wall at the V&A years ago at the Diaghilev exhibition. It's gorgeous.

I now know a lot more about Natalia Goncharova than I did before visiting the exhibition. Now that I've had time to think about the works and the breadth of Natalia's talents, I think I need to go back to see it again and look at the works afresh with a better understanding. The exhibition is on until September and is worth a visit to Tate Modern to see.

Bartolomé Bermejo at the National Gallery

There's a small exhibition about 'Bartolomé Bermejo: Master of the Spanish Renaissance' on at the National Gallery at the moment. It's one of its 'Room 1' exhibitions with everything in one room, namely Room 1 near the old main entrance. I quite like these small exhibitions since they focus down on a few works by an artist, often someone you've not come across before or know only vaguely. That's Bermejo to me.

The first thing I learned about him was that he wasn't actually called Bermejo and that 'bermejo' means 'reddish' in Spanish. His real name was Bartolome de Cardenas and he may have been Jewish who converted to Christianity before or during the Spanish Inquisition. He seems to have lived between about 1440 - 1501 but the records aren't very exact with historians assuming he died soon after the last documented mention of him. He certainly seems to have sought sanctuary from the Inquisition in Barcelona and the surrounding areas.

There are four works in the exhibition and the centrepiece is the rather tall and thin 'St Michael Triumphant' in his elaborate and very shiny armour as he defeats and casts out evil. His golden armoured feet are on the poster advertising the exhibition. It's an odd painting in many ways, particularly showing the kneeling donor well within scope of Michael's swinging sword poised for the killing blow. The shiny, elaborate armour and the many folds in the flying cloak capture our attention.

The long, thin, body of the warrior angel doesn't look terribly Spanish or, for that matter, Italian. It looks rather Flemish, somewhere in the traditions of the Northern Renaissance. There's no evidence, it seems, that he travelled north to study with the Flemish or German painters so how did he learn how to paint like this and why? The exhibition suggests that he studied the Flemish paintings that were coming into Spain but how did he do this? He wasn't a name and was quite itinerant so how did he get access to them? I suspect there's a lot more digging to be done around Bermejo.

The first work in the exhibition is the 'Triptych of the Virgin of Montserrat' that shows five religious scenes, with the Virgin and Child taking the central panel with a lovely landscape behind them. The landscape is rather detailed and ornate, more decorative than realistic but is that surprising given the scene and the rest of the triptych? I couldn't see what was on the outside of the two wings so I'll check the book about the show the next time I'm in the Gallery. I also can't remember who the archer-type bloke in the bottom right panel is meant to be so I'll check him as well.

A single large panel called the 'Despla Pieta' is so named because the local bishop of Barcelona, Despla, commissioned it and featured to the Virgin's right side. He, apparently, invited Bermejo to work in Barcelona to get away from the worst of the Inquisition in central Spain. I like the very round glasses the bishop is wearing and his studious reading of holy texts while his lord lies dying in front of him, somehow held up in the arms of a presumably old woman. Again there's a wonderful landscape in the background and the sugarloaf mountains of Monserrat in the far distance. This was the latest work in the small exhibition, dated from 1490 and I think you can tell from the detail and the quality of the painting.

The final work of the exhibition are four panels that would, presumably, have been side panels to a grand altarpiece but the central panel is missing. The panels show the 'Descent of Christ into Limbo', 'Christ with the Just in Paradise' (opposite), the 'Resurrection' and the 'Ascension'. The panels are dated between 1470-75, so were completed at around the same time as the 'Virgin of Montserrat' but I think the triptych is of far better quality. The spindly characters reminded me a bit of Bosch's characters (El Bosco). The scene shows Adam (the old man at the front) kissing Christ's hand, presumably in thanks for saving them all from eternity in Limbo. It seems a bit odd that the first Man should be kneeling as a supplicant to his descendant as well as his god. It's also odd that they're all naked with both Adam and Christ having some gauzy material that doesn't quite cover their modesty.

So there we have it, a small but carefully put together exhibition about Bermejo, the 'reddish' artist from Spain. It doesn't seem like a lot is known about him or maybe a lot is known but it hasn't been translated from Spanish? I suspect most of the academic works are in Spanish. Before this exhibition I was only familiar with the the 'Altarpiece of St Dominic of Silos' with the saint having a rather droopy oblong face surrounded by his finery and I saw that in the Prado in Madrid a few weeks ago. This exhibition has added another four works to my knowledge bank. I will go back and take another look the next time I'm in the National Gallery and have some time to spare.

Favourite Paintings: Titian 'The Vendramin Family'

Another of my favourite paintings is 'The Vendramin Family venerating a Relic of the True Cross' by Titian in the National Gallery. It took me many years to see this painting for the great work it really is. I must've walked past it without a second glance many times over the years but it was only when it was included in an exhibition of paintings owned by painters in 2016 that I finally looked at it properly. The painting was once owned by Van Dyck and that is why it was included in the exhibition.

The work was painted between 1540-45 and the old man in the centre is Andrea Vendramin who died in 1547 aged 66. He was a wealthy Venetian and it's thought that this family portrait was painted for his palazzo. His younger brother Gabriel is to his right in the red robe and the others are his sons. The relic they're venerating is linked to the family through an ancestor, also called Andrea, nearly 200 years earlier. Of course, I don't call him Andrea, I call him Lord Vendramin, as is proper.

This is Titian's largest family group and it's a very big painting in Room 9 in the National Gallery. It's thought that it was designed to be placed in a specific room in the Vendramin palazzo that was then changed, which would explain the odd positioning of the three boys on the left. I like the folds of the two mens' robes, the highlights, particularly on Gabriel's red robe, the fur lining and the detail of the texture of the fur. The foreshortening on Gabriel's hand stretching out to the viewer is quite incredible as he reaches out to viewers (presumably family members, friends and colleagues who might have access to the palazzo), almost inviting us to join in the veneration.

Gabriel looks up at the sacred relic but Lord Vendramin looks out at us, looking down. I can never decide what he's thinking and what his expression means. He's old and tired and those eyes have seen a lot over the years but he's still rich and powerful and has a large family to support him. A bit condescending? Probably. I imagine him getting fed up with all the tourists looking at him and his family, the tour groups chattering away loudly and the occasional screeches from young school groups. I wonder what he'd think if he knew this painting by Titian would be seen by millions of people every year, commoners from all over the world and countries that didn't exist when he was alive? Would he mind being gawped at for all these years? Or be proud that the family name still exists because of him?

I say hello to him when I pass this painting on my way from the Sainsbury Wing into the main gallery. I hope he welcomes a familiar face now and then.