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Jan 31

Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Days 8-15: The sky and the cliffs

It’s been a long time since I last posted the progress of my Autobiographical Mobile painting – the large canvas on which I am painting something of a representational narrative of my life. The reason for this absence is not forgetfulness, more a lack of time to paint. Such is the continuous treadmill of modern life, that time to paint becomes slimmer and slimmer, and as daily work predominates the days of the week, its potential to sap at my creative energies extends further still, into the evenings and the weekends. I find it hard to paint on these dark winter’s evening, working in artificial light, when hunger pangs in my tummy and fatigue pulls at my eyelids. And at the weekends I find my time is filled with the many menial activities for which the week no longer allows time. And so my autobiographical mobile, itself a rather ambitious task, is taking its time to develop. Nevertheless, since I last featured the painting in October, some significant changes have manifested.

The painting after Day 1

And with the “Calder” mobile, Fluffy and Bilbao

One benefit of having a painting slowly develop, hanging around my home from week to week, is that I have more time to contemplate its development. It was during the autumn that I developed a growing sense of unease about the work, finding gradually that the colours did not work. The pastel shade of the cliffs was too insipid, and the sky lacked depth. Both had to change.

So as I set to work on the painting after some weeks of rest, I first tackled the sky. Even though this meant largely undoing much of the work I had completed on the “Calder” mobile, I found the addition of clouds gave the flat blue sky more depth, more character and a greater balance.

The sky with the addition of clouds (and further work to the articles hanging from the mobile)

Satisfied now by my sky, I turned to the cliffs. It is one of the great benefits of modern technology that I can plan the direction of my painting midway through its progress, without even touching brush to canvas. With the aid of a paint application on my iPad and some very quick finger work, I was able to try out several new colour schemes with a view to assessing how the work would look with a bolder colour palate. I knew the insipid pastels of my background were no longer working with the bold modernist contrast of my central mobile, but I wasn’t sure which colour direction to take with the background. Here were a few iPad ideas…

In the end, opting for a richer brown-red cliff face, I set about covering the pinkier pastels of the pre-existing background. Just applying a plain coat of Indian Red required me to carefully paint around the already completed elements of my mobile and autobiographical symbols.

With a new base coat applied, and much more satisfied with the richer colour balance upon my canvas, I set about working on the textural surface of my cliffs. Part inspired by the cubism of the early 20th Century, and wanting to create a more jarring, robust environment for my slightly surreal beach scene, I found myself drawn to create a multi-textured cracking, angular surface from a rich array of reds, browns, oranges and beiges. The total surface of the vast cliffs took me several days to complete, and even now I am forever changing and rebalancing sections.

For the final touches of my cliffs, I added a number of large, self-standing almost obelisk-like boulders, increasing the detail and textural variance of these rocky surfaces the closer they got to the foreground.

The finished cliffs

At the end of all of this, I started to repaint my mobile structure, now much abused by the reinvention of the background all around it. Finally with the cliffs done, I can turn to the sand, the pools, and the all important mobile and the items which, hanging from its various tendons, will tell my story.

Until next time.

Autobiographical Mobile – Day 7 (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile – Day 6 (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile – Days 2-5 (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile – Day 1 (daily-norm.com)

Jan 30

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Patatas a lo Pobre

Sometimes the best things in life are the simplest. One of the greatest pleasures for me is going along to a classic family-run Spanish restaurant on the corner of the Paseo Maritimo in Marbella heading East towards Cable Beach. It’s off the tourist track, and far from the glitz and glamour of the Golden Mile and Puerto Banus, and that is why the restaurant, frequented as it is by the Spanish locals, serves some of the best food along the Marbellan coast, albeit cheaply and without pomp or ceremony.

Pretty much every Sunday when I am in Marbella (and how I wish I was right now) I head to that café on the corner, to eat a simple serving of squid with salad and, on the side, a large plate of oily, simple Patatas a lo Pobre. Literally translated as potatoes of the poor man, this typical Andalusian dish is awfully simple (it comprises mainly potatoes, onions and peppers), but completely delicious. And so, when a cold chill nipped at my spine this week, and when all I did was yearn for my beloved España basked in the summer heat, I set about recreating my favourite Sunday lunch.

My adored Marbella

Its calm winter beaches

The fisherman’s huts of Cable Beach

The patatas are really simple to make. Take one large onion and slice. Sauté the onion gently in oil until it softens, and add to that two chopped red peppers (deseeded), 2-3 cloves of garlic, chopped finely, seasoning, a small teaspoon of pimenton and a few bay leaves. This should all be cooked, again, until the pepper is softened. To that, add around 6-8 peeled potatoes chopped into bitesize pieces and a good glug more of olive oil, and cook the whole dish further until the potatoes are tender, but not falling apart (I find that peeled new potatoes work best for this as they can be sliced into neat round disks and keep their shape easily).

Serve your patatas drizzled in further good quality olive oil and, if you want to recreate the whole experience, some grilled squid and a hearty side salad (sadly I was unable to get my hands on any huge squids like those so frequently available on the Med, but when in London…well, we have to put up with seafood on the smaller side). This dish guarantees a burst of Spanish flavour with the added benefit that, as the name suggests, it’s really very cheap to make – highly suitable for that post-Christmas poor man’s January then.

My patatas

And some very small squid!

¡Buen Provecho!

Jan 28

6 Comments

Taking Comfort in Nature’s Coastal Tranquility

Sometimes, when the turmoil and hardship of human life becomes too much, the calming touch of nature is the best antidote to balance out the strife of personal unrest. Nature, so often the creator of chaos, is also the bringer of so much habitual beauty that its power to benefit as well as disrupt can go unrecognised in daily human life. Ever on the brink of disaster from storm and flood, mighty waves and perishing temperatures, we humans dance a delicate tango with the forces of nature, yet benefit, on those calmer days, from a natural canvas overloaded with aesthetic masterpieces.

When the balance droops lower into the realms of human strife, it is so often mother nature who will take us lost humans into her comforting embrace. No greater was my appreciation of her warming touch than yesterday, when having suffered weeks of personal tragedy, nature itself appeared to hold out her hand of welcome and restore my morale to a rejuvinated calm. When the dark shadow of sudden, tragic death fell upon myself and my family 5 weeks ago, and extinguished in its wake all the sparkle and joy of Christmas, we found ourselves subdued by the heavy burden of loss. When the new year arrived and we attempted to come to terms with our plight, the days of freezing temperatures and grey skies did nothing to lighten our disposition. And so it was that on Friday, surrounded by the remains of a week’s snowfall, we buried my brother-in-law after weeks of painful waiting.

The following day, the sun shone for what appeared the first time in weeks. Filling my soul with hope and my thoughts with levity, I was prompted to take the short stroll from my family home to the sea. There on the beach, with a round winter sun gilding the waves with glittering light, I reveled in the tranquil touch of nature. The lap of the sea, and the smell of seaweed upon the warmed pebbles enabled me to reflect upon the turmoil now past, and revive my energies for the fresh start which hopefully awaits. When human troubles became too much, it was this coastal conversation which reminded me that there is always more to hope for, experiences to cherish, and sensory stimulation still to embrace.

Nature restored me and now I feel like I can begin 2013 again refreshed.

This one looks a bit Normy…

As ever, the changing tides and morphing undulations of the beach landscape provided for plentiful stimulus, as perhaps these few photos I captured on my iPhone will show. I wish you all a great week, and a lucky, healthy, happy continuation of your year.

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work, photography or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Jan 27

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Norms do… Dalí

In a strange distant land, almost like the manifestation of a dreamlike unreality, where sharp craggy cliffs are reflected into the mirrored surface of a completely still ocean, and lone eggs cast elongated shadows into the bleak night, three Norms are left flattened, distorted, and almost draped over a series of nonsensically placed objects. Like overly ripe camembert or a floppy wet sardine, the Norms have been reduced to near 2-dimensional formulations of their once rotund gelatinous anatomies, bending and flopping over the inhabitants of this mystifying land: a morphed bird-like manifestation, a bleak, apparently root-less tree, and a cubic structure set like a stage for a nonexistent theatre troop. No one is clear why they are there, or when they will go, but in this eery, intransigent episode, one thing is clear: this milieu has no timescale, no locus, sense of rationality or reason, other than to clarify one indubitable observation: the Persistence of Normativity.

The Persistence of Normativity (after Dali) (2013 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, pen on paper)

Confused? Who isn’t, but since the Norms have been suitably inspired by Salvidor Dalí’s The Persistence of Memory, they thought a Delphic description was suitable to narrate this inconclusively surreal scene. Replacing Dalí’s famous melting clocks, these Norms fill the scene suitably, with their lucid organic forms, yet retaining all of Dalí’s characteristic inclusions, from the eggs and the craggy landscape of his home town, Cadaqués, to his ants, his flies and his strange bird-like forms. This is pure Dalí, with a little spice of Normativity.

Norms do… Hopper’s Nighthawks (daily-norm.com)
Paris: la visite d’art – Exhibition 3: Salvador Dalí (daily-norm.com)

Jan 23

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Norms do… Hopper’s Nighthawks

The streets of the city are deserted. Not a soul stirs, even the birds have gone to bed for the night. The roads are traffic free, and the shops are shut up. But turn the corner and a strange glaring light bounces off the blackened windows of the building opposite – it is the light and the long shadows, cast like a jarring artificial human invasion upon the darkness of nature’s night time veil. This is the intrusion of the night cafe, the all night American diner, hangout of the lost and lonely, last retreat for those Nighthawks who are unable to sleep.

In Normies diner, three enigmatic norm figures sit at an otherwise deserted bar, served by the one lone bar tender who has drawn the short straw of the night-shift. Their stories are a mystery, their relationships even more so. Do these Norms know each other, or is it a coincidence that three such Norms should stare, so passively into the night, caught in the confines of their own introspective imagination. Are they in trouble? Why can’t they sleep? They’re questions which will remain forever unanswered as we glimpse, unbeknown to the Norms, into the world of their solitary nighttime shadows.

The Nighthawk Norms (after Hopper) (2012 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, pen on paper)

This Normy scene if of course based on Nighthawks by Edward Hopper. With its enigmatic narrative and uncomfortable conflict between darkness and light, Nighthawks is easily Hopper’s most famous painting, and one which I was delighted to have met face to face at the recent Grand Palais exhibition in Paris. Now of course the Norms are inspired, and it’s only reasonable that they should want to recreate Hopper’s most well-recognised image.

(Upon creating it, I (the Norms’ illustrator) soon realised just how complex this painting of Hopper’s is – full of steep angles, and a superb perspective, I had to work hard with my pencil and ruler before I even got started on this one – so many straight lines to map out, so many angles to get right. And then there were the shadows and his excellent contrast between lightness and dark – difficult to achieve in black and white pens, although not impossible – Hopper’s own lithographs and etchings, also on show in Paris, demonstrated that much. I hope you enjoy the result.)

Paris: la visite d’art – Exhibition 1: Hopper (daily-norm.com)

Jan 21

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Paris: la visite d’art – Exhibition 3: Salvador Dalí

I have waited my whole life for the latest retrospective blockbuster at Paris’ Pompidou Centre – or at least the whole of my life since the momentous day when I first cast my eyes upon the work of Catalan artistic genius, Salvador Dalí. It was, I believe, his melting clocks, a painting which I first saw when the headmistress of my primary school showed us some projected images of the world’s most famous paintings. It was a defining moment of my life. In that collection was Monet’s garden, Van Gogh’s sunflowers and Dalí’s melting clocks. And ever since, I was hooked – hooked on art, but most of all, on the mysterious, unsettling, iconically surreal world of Salvador Dalí.

When you think of Dalí, you of course think of those clocks, of ants and eggs, crutches and long-legged elephants, Venus de Milo turned into a cabinet of draws, figures fragmenting like an atomic explosion, optical illusions, the lobster on a phone, barren landscapes and long dark shadows. It’s an incredible list of characteristics which Dalí made his own through images which have become so well known across the globe that there can be no doubting Dalí’s self-proclaimed accolade – that he was a genius. His paintings are so brilliantly executed down to the tiniest detail that the mind honestly boggles. The extent of his imagination is almost enough to make the brain implode, and yet when faced with his paintings composed with such faultless artistic skill, you cannot help but roam the canvas with your eyes hungrily, sucking in every exquisite detail, exploring the multi-layered imagery and baulking and the sheer audaciously brilliant output of this creative prodigy.

The Persistence of Memory (1931)

Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a Pomegranate (1944)

The Great Masturbator (1929)

Sadly, up until now, my love for Dalí has been lived out largely through the fair few catalogues I have of his work. I’ve taken in every detail of the four Dalí’s owned here in London by Tate on countless occasions, and done the same with the fairly comprehensive collection of the Reina Sofia in Madrid. I’ve visited Montmartre’s Espace Dalí on numerous occasions, but found it to be largely lacking in paintings, and I’ve been to a few surrealism-based shows in London in which one or two canvases have featured. But I have often bemoaned the lack of Dalí paintings in Europe and I have longed for an exhibition when many would come together.

The Pompidou have answered my prayers. This Dalí retrospective is nothing short of stunning. It is one of the best if not the best exhibition I have ever been to. The show isn’t a peripheral tribute to Dalí, but a comprehensive exploration of his entire career featuring an incredible 120 paintings all in one place, as well as sketches, sculptures, a recreation of his famous red-lipped sofa Mae West room and other paraphernalia. I was in heaven. The show’s curators appear to have acquired all of the works from Tate, and all those owned by the Reina Sofia, but most importantly of all, the exhibition brings together a huge collection of works which are hiding away over in the Dalí museum in St Petersburg, Florida, whose collection alone comprises some 96 paintings, and, most brilliantly of all, the globally recognised melting clocks themselves, all the way over from New York. Could this show get any better?

Geopoliticus child watches the birth of the new man (1943)

Impressions of Africa (1938)

The exhibition starts with an egg – a large egg which forms an entrance to the first gallery and whose pounding heartbeat could be heard all the way down the corridor of the Pompidou’s 6th floor. It was like the warm up to a mega-star’s pop-concert, as the audience is whipped up into a frenzy in anticipation of the great star’s arrival onto the concert stage. And appropriately so, for there is no greater star of the artistic world, in my opinion, than Salvidor Dalí, and at the Pompidou, the stage was truly set.

Jan 19

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Paris: la visite d’art – Les Photos

I’ve already mentioned that my recent trip to Paris had been justified on the basis that there were at least 3 tremendous exhibitions on show which I was bursting to see. But likewise, while I always try to rationalise my extravagance in visiting Paris as often as possible, for those who really appreciate the aesthetic beauty, the artistic perfection of life, I need justify this visit no further, nor indeed any other foray into this undeniably beguiling city. Just one look at my recent set of Paris photos is justification in itself. For where else on earth could a heaving, busy, pulsating capital city exhibit such indisputably captivating elegance? From its broad Haussmann boulevards and narrow cobbled streets, to the blue lacquered doorways and red wings of the Moulin Rouge Windmill, Paris is a paradise of unparalleled artistic ravishment, seducing every species of the creative collective within its fold.

I have taken so many photographs of Paris, and every time I visit, I think there cannot possibly be anything left for me to capture. And yet with each new visit, Paris proves that I was wrong to doubt, bounteous as it is with fodder for even the most seasoned photographer, constant inspiration to those who like me, cannot resist the temptation to immortalise this city in a thousand new shots at every turn of the corner.

This time round I became freshly inspired by the quaint streets of Montmartre, and the rubicund red of the Moulin Rouge. I was enchanted by some of the smaller details such as the glossy blue lions on the doors of official government buildings, and by contrast, captivated by the creative graffiti art lining the stairs leading up to the infamous Butte de Montmartre, and the oddities of the urban landscape such as this almost melted pavement, above. So from shots of shop signs and garlic filled snails, to souvenirs aplenty and cityscapes which are like poetry on the eyes, I leave you now with just a few of my recent photos – my ode to the true art of Paris: Paris itself.

Paris: la visite d’art – Exhibition 2: Bohèmes (daily-norm.com)
Paris: la visite d’art – Exhibition 1: Hopper (daily-norm.com)

Jan 18

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Paris: la visite d’art – Exhibition 2: Bohèmes

With a second day comes a second exhibition direct from the city of love, light, and above all things, art. Paris, inspiration to so many creatives over the years, is host to a sensational array of art exhibitions this Autumn/Winter season, and I could not wait to rush over on eurostar to get my fill.

Our second show, after Hopper, was also the second of two big blockbuster shows being held consecutively in the mammoth greenhouse-come-palace otherwise known as Le Grand Palais. Entitled Bohèmes, this exhibition promised to be an enriching exploration of the bohemian age of Paris, when pearly green absinthe dripped from sugar on a balanced spoon in little grimy bars on the step hillsides of Montmartre, when dandy artists courted flirty prostitutes and cabaret dancers, and when the true spirit of the artistic revolution was born.

L’Absinthe (Edgar Degas, 1876)

It was the inevitable consequence of the impressionist age, when artists and intellectuals alike broke free from the shackles of Napoleonic Paris, zealously keen to explore the new modernised world, an age with re-written moral values, re-examined sensibilities, and artistically a blank-canvas ripe for the most extravagant exploration. It was the age of the bohemian revolution, the time of Toulouse Lautrec, the Moulin Rouge and the can-can, and surely the most charming age of all Parisian history.

It was with a high degree of excitement then that we entered our second expo in the Grand Palais, ready to indulge in Le Chat Noir, the decadence of dandyism, and the melancholy of alcoholic introspection. And yet what we were faced with was a huge long gallery full of dank old paintings…of gypsies! This was not at all what I had expected, and I must admit to being quite put out by this start to the show. Unenthusiastically, we browsed the nondescript works, before turning the corner, only to find more. Gypsies in Romania, Gypsies in Spanish Seville, all painted in a very classical, traditional fashion, each in turn failing to inspire me (I also thought it was rather ironic that this exhibition was even on show in Paris… after all, wasn’t France the country which was recently so caught up in a scandal with the Romani communities?).

However soon enough, the exhibition changed for the positive. Depictions of the gypsy communities became all the lighter, more colourful and lighthearted. Enter Van Gogh, with his fresh, turquoise skies and bright yellow gypsy caravan near Arles, and Renoir with his iconically idealistic portrayal of a gypsy girl. Then there was the great Courbet, the artist much lauded for kickstarting the spirit of the artistic revolution, and his highly original self-portrait, Bonjour Monsieur Courbet.

Gustav Courbet, La Recontre ou Bonjour M. Courbet (1854)

Van Gogh, Gypsy Camp near Arles

Auguste Renoir, En été / La bohémienne (1868)

So why all the gypsies? Well apparently, the origin of the word “bohemian” is from the French word bohémien, which is the french word for gypsy, allegedly because the French believed the Romani people to have come either from or certainly through Bohemia (now the Czech Republic). From the gypsy connotations, the word gradually became used to describe people who were “socially unconventional” and so the bohemian concept was born – the art lovers, the dancers, the scandalous inhabitants of Montmartre – all were part of a mass bohemian revolution, where social conventions were cast to the weakening winds of the past, and free spirited minds were unleashed upon the world of art, love and leisure. And it was to this time, at the end of the 19th century, when bohemianism truly came into its own, that the exhibition finally wandered, casting behind the historical gypsy poses, and taking us to the heart of the bohemian insurrection of 19th century Paris.

From hereon in, I was in art heaven. From Courbet’s dashing self-portraits, and depictions of the artist’s arteliers (art studios), to the vibrant artistic community of Montmatre, with its cafés, its dance halls and its Moulins aplenty, these paintings unleashed an age of debauchery, of charm and of vivacious artistic liberty which was almost unique to the Montmartre region and a decisive factor in why I came to adore Paris as a young school boy first wandering into the Place du Tertre.

Paul Signac, Le Moulin de la Galette (1884)

Van Gogh, Coin a Montmartre, le Moulin a poivre (1887)

Ramon Casas, En Plein-air (1890)

But not only did the exhibition feature the paintings of bohemianism, but also recreated their world. The café scenes were displayed in a mock up café with long benches, peeling walls and posters from the infamous cabaret Le Chat Noir and the artist’s hangout, Le Lapin Agile, while the depictions of the ateliers were hung on the walls of an artist’s studio. Playing in the background was the music of two operas – Bizet’s Carmen, the opera about Seville’s most famous gypsy protagonist, and of course Puccini’s La Bohéme, a story of the quintessential bohemians in 19th century Paris – the starving writer and his equally hungry artist friend, scraping together a living while falling in love with prostitutes and suffering the full potency of love, romance and the horrors of a poverty-ridden death.

Ramon Casas, Madeleine or Au Moulin de la Galette (1892)

Santiago Rusiñol, Café de Montmartre (1890)

Steinlein, poster for Le Chat Noir

The atmosphere conjured by the paintings of that time are like a snapshot onto an almost impossible age of charm. Of course it’s easy to romanticise poverty and decadence, in times which were hard, often miserable, and tragic, and yet there is something about that age which fills me with incredible inspiration, as though the artistic spirit which was kindled in that time has never burnt out, pervading through the centuries and igniting the artistic spirits of a millennia of new creative generations.

Ccharles Amable Lenoir, Rêverie (1893)

I only wish that you too could be inspired by the paintings on show… however these photos will have to be enough. Having just checked the website, I see that this great show finished at the weekend, drawing this fascinating study of bohemia to a close, but reopening a chapter of artistic revolution whose impact will live forever.

I leave you, for completeness, with the Norms’ very own version of Degas’ L’Absinthe (above)… it wasn’t featured in Bohémes, but clearly should have been.

L'Absinthe Norm (acrylic on canvas, 2011 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown)

À bientôt

Paris: la visite d’art – Exhibition 1: Hopper (daily-norm.com)

Jan 17

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Paris: la visite d’art – Exhibition 1: Hopper

I don’t need a reason to visit Paris. The beauty of the winding cobbled streets of Montmartre echoing with accordion melodies, the charm of the boutique-filled Marais, the glory of the sweeping River Seine, and the regal grandeur of the Louvre, the Napoleonic boulevards, the sandy parks and the super-sized fountains… I could just walk around the place, breathe in the atmosphere, and munch upon macarons year after year, month after month. I never grow tired of Paris.

And yet this year, Paris’ artistic offerings provided me not only with an excuse to make my second trip to the city in the space of 12 months, but made it a requirement. For the exhibitions which have graced the Paris art scene this autumn/winter have frankly been second to none – a Hopper retrospective at the Grand Palais, an exhibition focusing on the “bohemians” of 19th century Paris, also at the Grand Palais, a show of the significant artistic productivity, including Picassos aplenty, of occupied Paris during the second world war at the Modern Art Museum and, most significantly of all, a Salvador Dali retrospective at the Pompidou. I have waited all my life for that one. Yet by comparison, what did we have in London in the so called “cultural olympiad” of 2012? A show of Hockney’s “bigger picture”, which was always so crowded that the most you could see of his bigger pictures was his clumsy brushstrokes pushed almost up against your nose, a premature retrospective of the great pretender, Damien Hirst, and a further foray down the well-trodden path of the Pre-Raphaelites for the 5th time in as many years.

So off to Paris I went with my partner, full of anticipation for what lay ahead – 3 days; 3 exhibitions – an anticipation which was fulfilled many times over.

Now it would be an injustice to try and feature the three shows I saw all in one post – the Dali exhibition alone should have a whole blog of its own. So I will take you through the shows one by one, sharing the joy of Paris’ cultural agenda for those of you who cannot make the trip, and making a strong case for the prompt purchase of exhibition tickets for those who can.

So up first – Edward Hopper at the Grand Palais. Hopper (1882-1967) the all-American painter, best known for his depictions of introspective early 20th century city dwellers, lost in a world of thought in an often artificial unnatural urban space, has long fascinated me, ever since I “accidently” hung on to a catalogue lent to me by my friends, Sarah and Truong, of this artist previously unknown to me. Of course at least two paintings are recognisable to us all – House by the Railroad (1925) – the quite reclusive, slightly sinister victorian house which is said to have inspired Hitchcock’s Psycho house, and a number of haunted house parodies ever since; and Nighthawks (1942), the quintessential Hopper masterpiece, with its four mysterious figures, enigmatic relationships, and strangely unnatural nighttime glare. But asides from those popular references, I did not know Hopper, yet wished to be better acquainted.

House by the Railroad, 1925 (© MOMA, NY)

Nighthawks, 1942 (© Art Institute, Chicago)

In staging this significant retrospective (featuring 160 works, that was almost Hopper’s entire life’s output – he was a notoriously fastidious and slow painter), the Grand Palais was providing the ultimate in Hopper shows, allowing not only an acquaintance with this fine artist, but a chronological embrace through each stage of his artistic career.

An early work - Soir Bleu, 1914 (© Whitney Museum of American Art)

First up, we were shown his early works – painted around the beginning of the 20th century and suitably inspired by Paris and artists like Degas and Pissarro, Hopper dabbled in his earliest cityscapes – broad brushed meditations on a captivating city, yet rather subdued, although already mastering an effective contrast of sunlight and shadow. But soon enough, Hopper turned to illustration, finding that his paintings were not selling. Here, we see Hopper as the caricaturist and illustrator, both mediums in which he was able to demonstrate great skill as a draftsman and social commentator. It was only in the 20s that he began to paint seriously again, and finding greater success as he did so. From this point in the show onwards, there begins a vast array of Hopper paintings, spoiling the viewer with their breadth and sheer number.

Manhattan Bridge Loop, 1928 (© Addison Gallery of American Art)

The City, 1927 (© University of Arizona Museum of Art)

From Williamsburg Bridge, 1928 (© Met Museum of Art, NY)

The paintings can almost be split, both chronologically and thematically. In the first set, Hopper’s paintings are conspicuous through their absence of people. Hopper had turned to urban scenes in his native America, concentrating on everyday scenes, roads, highways, lonely houses, and managing to capture the spirit of both suburban America and central city spaces, yet with the often noticeable lack of inhabitants. This then is to be contrasted by the later raft of works, in which the person takes centre stage in his paintings, as Hopper becomes almost voyeristic, appearing to intrude into scenes of great personal contemplation and introspection, as the characters he portrays stare, apparently into space, or couples appear together, yet both lost it seems in their own world.

Room in New York, 1932 (© Sheldon Museum of Art, University of Nebraska)

Summertime, 1943 (© Delaware Art Museum)

These are the paintings which really made Hopper’s name – the lonely people – the built up urban scenes which nonetheless leave us with a feeling of emptiness and solitude. They are like a commentary on that time, as though Hopper is making a statement about the commercialisation and urban growth which was happening all around him – the more it grows, the lonelier the people caught up in the growth feel. The smaller the spaces, the inhabitants sink into themselves. In this respect, Hopper perhaps anticipated the pop-art of later years, yet doing so more as a resigned critic than as a celebrant of popular culture.

Portrait of Orleans, 1950 (© Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco)

Personally, while I found Hopper’s people fascinating to consider, their stories open to so much interpretation, and Hopper’s intentions likewise, I couldn’t help but feel that too often his figures had something of a cartoony look about them, almost as though Hopper couldn’t quite kick the habit of his earlier days as an caricature artist. Rather, by far my favourite paintings were the solitary landscapes, the soulless cityscapes with not a person to be seen, the forest road interspersed with a jarring petrol station, the rolling landscape of The Camel’s Hump which was, by far, my favourite of his works.

Lighthouse Hill, 1927 (© Dallas Museum of Art)

However likewise I loved a small gallery which showed some of Hopper’s etchings. This is quite bizarre, being that I have previously been drawn to Hopper by his great use of colour. Yet for me, Hopper’s etchings were more like a window onto his soul as an artist, whereas with his paintings, so often we look through opaque glass, misunderstanding his intentions and the messages he attempts to portray. Through his etchings we can enjoy his interaction with nature, appreciate the small details of life which fascinated him, and also track something of the thought process which underlay some of his later works. Take Night Shadows for example, which, in all its start Hitchcockian glory, appears to be something of a precursor to the enigmatic mystery which pervades many of his later paintings, especially the Nighthawks.

Night Shadows, 1921 (etching, © Philadelphia Museum of Art)

Whether it’s the inscrutable figures or the stark urban landscapes which do it for you, Hopper is a very likeable artist. His works are uncontroversial; they are inherently mysterious yet still very accessible; they beg questions, but provide no answers, and for that reason will continue to enagage audiences for many years to come. Yet so many of these works come from collections across America, and therefore for the European viewer, this is likely to be the best opportunity there will be for some years to engage with Hopper this side of the pond. So I urge you to go along, and make sure you book tickets in advance – did I mention that the show is so popular that we had to queue for almost an hour, just to get in on our pre-booked time slot?

The exhibition runs at Paris’ Grand Palais until 3 February 2013. You can buy your tickets here. Alternatively, if you can’t make it, the exhibition comes with its own mobile App which can be downloaded (at least from the itunes app store) and will guide you around the show with commentary and pictures – so even if you can’t make it to Paris, you’ll feel like you’ve done the show from the comfort and solitude of your very own armchair. Now Hopper would have loved that image.

Salvador Dalí retrospective has Paris art fans reaching for record books (guardian.co.uk)

Jan 16

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Magnificently Miserable: Les Misérables the Movie

You know a film has been good when you have to cower as the cinema lights come up at the end for fear the audience will catch sight of your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, when the emotional exhaustion has left you depleted and dehydrated, and when you don’t want to leave until the music from the credits has stopped rolling. Tom Hooper’s new movie of Les Misérables must have been exceptionally good, because as the credits rolled, I suffered from all three symptoms unreservedly.

Almost from the moment Schonberg’s rapturous score began to play, the hairs on my arms stood erect, and my tear glands began to tingle. By Ann Hathaway’s incredibly performance of I dreamed a dream as Fantine, they were in full flow. But the question remains, was my intense emotional reaction and great enjoyment of this Les Misérables a reaction to the film, or just the score which has enchanted audiences for years?

Hugh Jackman is incredibly good as Jean Valjean

The poster image – Isabelle Allen as the young Cosette

Amanda Seyfried as older Cosette and Eddie Redmayne as Marius

Undoubtedly both factored hand in hand. Nothing quite beats the power of the full cast singing in harmony together on a theatre stage, such as the performance of One More Day at the end of Act I, as the revolutionaries prepare for battle, and Jean Valjean prepares to rescue Marius and protect Cosette. The intensity and intimacy of the theatrical production cannot in fact be beaten in many respects, and has arguably reduced me to greater effluvia of tears than the film. But what the movie brings us is what only a movie can – Les Mis on a grand scale, with an ambitious backdrop of early 19th century Paris which could never be attempted by even the most significant of theatre stages. The opening scene of the movie is, for example, a stunning opener, as Hugh Jackman as the much wronged Jean Valjean, applies every last bit of energy into hauling a great big warship into a French port, while, of course, singing about the hardship he has endured. The scale of this immense marine backdrop was awe-inspiring and in union with the dramatic score made for a spine-tingling start to the film.

The brilliant Anne Hathaway as Fantine

However there are two reasons why this adaptation of Les Misérables is, in my opinion, a real winner, over and above the already much loved and highly emotive Schonberg and Boublil score. The first is the cast. So often, when a musical is Hollywood-ised, funding is secured only by the promise of a super-famous cast of actors who are nonetheless unskilled in their musical ability. This is (apart from perhaps one exception) not the case here. I would never have guessed that X-Men’s Hugh Jackman would be such a good singer, with a fine tenor voice and demonstrating great skill, particularly in songs such as God on High with its octave leaps and challenging high notes. He also demonstrated himself to be a fine and versatile actor, oozing the moral strength and fortitude which is central to the character of the wronged yet self-sacrificing Jean Valjean. Equally brilliant was Anne Hathaway, who I’ve only really known from the Princess Diaries, The Devil Wears Prada and other light-hearted fair. Who would have known that she could act and sing with such incredible intensity? Her performance of I dreamed a dream was so brilliant, so natural, that hopefully, thank the lord, the horrendous massacre inflicted upon it worldwide by Susan Boyle will no longer be the peoples’ primary association with this musical masterpiece.

Thénardier and his wife (Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen)

Eddie Redmayne and Samantha Barks as Marius and Éponine

Samantha Barks as Éponine

I also loved Eddie Redmayne as Marius, showing a greater warmth and depth of character than he did in last year’s BBC adaptation of Sebastian Faulkes’ Birdsong, and also sporting an excellent singing voice. Mention should also go to the lesser known but equally good Samantha Barks who reprised her stage role as Éponine, Aaron Tveit as a very intense Enjolras, spurring on the young thinkers to revolution, little Daniel Huttlestore as a brilliantly charismatic Gavroche, and of course the ever entertaining Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter, the double-barrelled twosome, who made the perfect Monsieur and Madame Thenardier, the duplicitous inn-keepers who lend much needed light relief to an otherwise heavy emotional tale.

Helena Bonham Carter as the outrageous Madame Thénardier

My one reservation, and the exception I allude to above, is for Russell Crowe as Inspector Javert. While he certainly looked the part as the stern, restless, duty-bound inspector who makes it his life’s work to chase Jean Valjean who missed his parole and eluded him ever since, this is a musical after all, and while Crowe can hold a tune, his voice was way too weak to install the character with the musical strength and baritone depth that is required. The consequence was a voice that was strained and tended to let the side down. But not so much as to take away from the otherwise remarkable work of this brilliantly constituted cast.

Russell Crowe as Javert

The second respect in which I think this film succeeded was in the very innovative camera work. Tom Hooper as director appears to favour close up shots of the characters, which made for a particularly intense audience to character engagement during the pivotal moments of the film, such as Fantine singing I dreamed a dream and Marius singing Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (another superb performance). The camera lens almost appeared to give the effect of a convex focus, giving a very sharp focus on the character which then tapered off into a blurrier backdrop. The effect was intense, engaging and innovatively arty. It gave both a sense of realism and theatre, through which the very musical tenor of this film did not feel out of place.

Marius joins the revolution

Musicals converted into movies are not always successful. Les Misérables is clearly an exception to the rule. It’s a must of the 2013 cinematic season and I urge you to rush along to the cinemas as soon as you can. But don’t forget your Kleenex…