Martin Gayford

The rare gifts of Peter Doig

Plus: the magic of Patrick Caulfield and James Rosenquist’s vistas of lustrous but unappealing plenty

issue 21 September 2019

‘My basic intention,’ the late Patrick Caulfield once told me, ‘is to create some attractive place to be, maybe even on the edge of fantasy — warm, glowing, but often, by use, rather seedy.’ He frequently succeeded, as you can see from a beautifully mounted little exhibition at the Waddington Custot Gallery. It is a reminder of what a witty and inventive artist Caulfield (1936–2005) could be.

Four screen prints from 1971, ‘Interior: Morning, Noon, Evening and Night’, give a virtuoso display of the visual legerdemain he could work using the simplest of props. These all have the same basic design: a window frame, consisting of thick, black lines, with a lampshade dangling in front of it. But by simple colour substitutions, he conjures up four quite distinct times of day, and moods.

At noon the glass is glowing yellow with sunlight, the interior a cool, shady blue. By the time night has fallen, outside is inky black, the window frame and shade a warm red, with an oval of yellow light at the bottom of the lamp. The effect is cosy, mysterious and at the same time ironic, which is characteristic of Caulfield’s world and work.

He’s like a magician saying: ‘Look, this is just a trick and here’s how it’s done.’ But you still feel the magic. Caulfield loved slyly emphasising the illusions that paint can create. ‘Evening Paper’ (1999), for example, is, like many of his images, almost abstract. He summons a room with a few oblongs — dark ones to represent a window, light ones for a door into a more brightly illuminated space.

But in the foreground, on a desk that is just as minimally indicated, are a pen and pen-holder depicted with such hyper-realist precision that you have to peer closely to check it’s not a photograph stuck on to the canvas.

Illustration Image

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