The primary experience of looking at painting is the crucial encounter between a painted surface and the human eye. Nothing is quite like it, and this unique experience cannot be replaced or replicated by looking at a painting in printed reproduction or on a computer screen. This may be a truism but it is worth emphasising once again in an age that relies increasingly on mediated experience, and lives — almost literally — by the screen. It is a truth brought into especial prominence by the concatenation of three exhibitions currently showing in London.
Photography does not require the same intimate experience of viewing. A reprographic medium, it appears (in these days of high-quality printing) without significant distortion in books and catalogues, and the photography enthusiast need scarcely stray from his armchair to enjoy the fruits of his chosen medium. The principal aspect of photography that cannot be adequately conveyed in book form is scale, which is why so many contemporary photographers elect to work on a gigantic format. That and back lighting (presenting the image on a lightbox) are the two main technical aspects of photography today difficult to communicate through catalogue reproduction. It’s hardly a surprise, therefore, to find a large photo on a lightbox in the first room of the National Gallery’s new Sainsbury Wing exhibition.
This is by Jeff Wall, one of the international stars of contemporary photography and no mean snapper — certainly a lot more interesting than Thomas Struth or Tom Hunter. His work is hung near a not particularly inspiring copy by Frédéric Villot of Delacroix’s great painting ‘The Death of Sardanapalus’. Also in this room is a beautiful large almost abstract photograph by Sarah Jones called ‘The Drawing Studio (I)’. This is hung at right angles to an oil study for ‘The Romans of the Decadence’ by Thomas Couture. At once several points are raised: hanging paintings with photos is supposed to demonstrate the strong links between them, and to emphasise that contemporary photographers keep going back to great art for inspiration. It is also intended to show that photography is an art form on an equal footing with painting — but notice that there are very few great paintings here. In fact, there are only 17 paintings in this exhibition, of which perhaps three are of the highest quality, as against some 90 photos. Close comparison between painting and photography is actually not encouraged — for the obvious reason that photography can’t support it.
In Room 2, there’s the first great painting: Gainsborough’s ‘Mr and Mrs Andrews’, laughably juxtaposed with a Martin Parr double portrait. There are some good things in here, including ‘Iago’ by Julia Margaret Cameron, one of the distinguished pioneers of photography and always worth looking at. Room 3 concentrates on the figure, and aims to catch the eye with Richard Learoyd’s ‘Man with Octopus Tattoo II’, the chief publicity image for the exhibition. To the left on the end wall hangs one of Rineka Dijkstra’s disturbing bathing-suited children. Between is a small Ingres painting, ‘Angelica saved by Ruggiero’, not an impressive work. By contrast, one of the finest things in this room is Helen Chadwick’s moving self-portrait photograph entitled ‘Ruin’.
The main gallery is given over to tableaux, and again Helen Chadwick offers one of the most interesting images here, ‘One Flesh’, a collage of photocopies; her early death robbed British art of an original and provocative voice. I also quite liked the kitsch baroque figure group ‘Keep Them Sweet’ by Maisie Maud Broadhead, but better still the Roger Fentons and J.M. Cameron’s ‘Study of the Cenci’. Chief stupidity: a huge Vernet painting skied above a negligible snap by Luc Delahaye. Room 5 contains one of the three really good paintings: ‘Still-Life with Lemons and Oranges’ by Luis Melendez, which puts all around it into the shade, even though there are some rather fine things here. Also in this room a beautiful Fantin-Latour flower painting, with an exploding bouquet next to it by Ori Gersht, a confetti of disintegrating petals. Not bad, but it doesn’t do much for me: none of the depth or resonance of the Fantin-Latour or Melendez.
The last room deals with landscape and is notable chiefly for an exquisite little painting by Peder Balke called ‘The Tempest’; photographs of the sea hung nearby just can’t compete, however good. And that’s the point one takes away, to resurface with even greater urgency in the main building’s Sunley Room, in Richard Hamilton’s exhibition. I’ve long been fascinated by Hamilton as an artist and ideas man, but lately his status for me has changed from artist to art-world figure commanding respect for past achievements. This show of his last work compounds my dissatisfaction with him as both painter and thinker, for what he called ‘paintings’ (in fact, images mostly printed on to canvas) are horrible to look at, and the ideas are just plain silly. The best picture here is the earliest, ‘Lobby’ (1985–7), the rest are famous themes such as The Annunciation photographically reworked with nubile nude girls.
Apparently quite a few visitors have been upset by the nudity. Hamilton’s pictures may be bad but this response is ludicrous: are these people at all familiar with the history of western art? The naked figure is one of the staples of our painting tradition, and Hamilton’s are not exactly confrontational. If you can’t have nudes in the NG, where can you have them?
At Messum’s in Cork Street, for a start. Rose Hilton, at the age of 81, is painting better than ever and she has made something of a speciality of the female nude. Two sequences of new paintings demonstrate her relaxed mastery of the subject: ‘Fun in the Bathroom’ and the ‘Rock Pool Series, Botallack’. Rose has entered with aplomb a late period of lyrical and inventive imagery, moving from evocative figuration to abstraction and back again. Her ‘anything goes’ attitude is immensely refreshing when based on a lifetime’s knowledge and experience. Colour floods these vibrant and celebratory paintings. The exhibition has been extended, by popular demand, until 17 November.
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