Appetite for gloom

James Pryde (1866–1941) is one of those artists who enjoyed a considerable vogue in their own lifetime, and resurface now and again but never with anything like the same success. (The last solo show of his work I saw was at the Redfern in 1988. There was a museum show in Edinburgh, his native city, in 1992, but nothing since.) He is not widely known, nor is he popular. ‘His paintings show much dramatic contrast and emphasis, not always justified by their subjects,’ opines the Yale Dictionary of Art & Artists. He is perhaps more familiar as one half of the artistic partnership which produced ground-breaking poster designs under the pseudonym of the Beggarstaff Brothers. For that early venture he teamed up with the energetic William Nicholson, who was actually his brother-in-law and was probably the main driving force. Their association was never a commercial success, though their designs were (and still are) much admired, and it only lasted a few years in the 1890s. Pryde had to make his own way after that, and succeeded in producing a small body of work which has a distinct tinge and flavour, indeed a decided originality, which will doubtless find a new band of admirers today.

The Fleming Collection, with the expert assistance of guest-curator Cecilia Powell, has mounted an impressive and enjoyable loan exhibition of Pryde’s paintings and prints, backed up with a wealth of documentary material. (The accompanying catalogue is a useful addition to the scant literature on the subject.) As you enter the gallery, three large paintings face you on the right-hand wall: reading from left to right they are ‘The Husk’, ‘Cowdray Ruins’ and ‘Queen Elizabeth’s Bedroom’. (These rarely seen pictures are from Dunecht House in Aberdeenshire, and were commissioned by Annie, Viscountess Cowdray, Pryde’s principal patron.) At once a preoccupation with history and the ends of things will be apparent.