Posts tagged ‘Art’

May 2

Autobiographical Mobile: The finished article

C’est fini! At last, my autobiographical mobile is complete! Started in June last year and completed right at the end of April of this year, the maths alone dictates that this has been a long project in the making. While my blog account of the work has been posted in respect of 25 full days of painting, a great number of evenings and hours grabbed in otherwise hectic weeks have been spent working on this piece, one of the most comprehensive projects of my art career so far. Yet the protracted length of the project (augmented by the fact I work full-time and have been undertaking a whole host of other artistic projects in the meantime) has also been one of its benefits – feeling no rush, I managed to achieve a more perfected finish on each of the areas I was working on, and likewise, owing to the passage of time, the painting has become something of a developing story in itself – a true artistic reflection of the changing circumstances of my life.

Autorretrato (Autobiographical Mobile) 2013 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, oil on canvas

And how it looked on the first day of painting

I have extrapolated upon most of the details in the painting in former posts explaining my progress, however in very brief terms, the painting is an autobiographical self-portrait told through symbols and metaphors rather than a head and shoulders portrait. At the centre of the canvas, a large free-standing mobile, in the style of the great mobile-artist Alexander Calder, represents my life. At its base, my constant companions, Fluffy and Bilbao, teddies given by my Partner and me to one another shortly after we first started dating, represent the very consistent, anchoring and significant role of our relationship in my life. Then above, the mobile acts as an autobiography balancing out the various positives and negatives in my life so far. On the left: the positives – all the stuff I love and which has helped to shape me into the person I am today. First up, Spain and art history, symbolised through the iconic image of one of Span’s master-artist’s Infanta portraits, whose dress is in turn decked out to resemble the sandy colours of a Spanish bull ring, while her sunglasses represent Spanish tourism, the industry which has been so important in bolstering the economy of modern day Spain. Next, the symbol of enlightenment and creative/ academic success: This is a Norm-shaped lightbulb decked out in a graduation mortar-board and holding a graduation scroll. This hybrid Norm/ bulb character represents my achievements both as an illustrator-blogger and as a lawyer, and stands for the importance of learning and development in my life. Further along, the egg: This is a representation of my art career, and also my love of Paris (where I was engaged and from which I have been inseparable for at least 15 years). Paris was the inspiration for my first major painting, Le Paris Formidable, a creation which I consider to be a milestone in my artistic career and the moment I began to take painting seriously. In that image I painted the Sacre Coeur church as a series of eggs and egg cups (the white domes of the basilica reminding me of eggs), while plunging into the egg, an egg soldier is replaced by a French baguette, held up by a rosary, representing that for me, art is like my religion. Finally in the positives, a sun cream bottle represents my love of travel, and spurting from it, a representation of my love of gastronomy as shown through a mixed and bounteous flow of prawns, marie rose sauce, chorizo, strawberries and wine, all combined together through a meandering strand of spaghetti which in itself metamorphoses from the Fortnum and Masons hamper sat on a rock below it – the hamper representing my love of the finer things in life. Onto the negatives, and up first my 2008 accident – the life-changing event was informed so much of my art and altered my life, both physically and mentally forever. Then the death of my career at the self-employed bar, a hugely difficult time when I suffered stress close to mental breakdown, prejudice, bullying and was effectively cast out of the profession because of the small-minded prejudices which come of a profession in which survival, without fitting into the Oxbridge stereotype (the blue snakes), is all but impossible. Then the birdcage, a symbol of entrapment, both for my sister trapped by the grave fate which arose upon the death of her husband leaving her to bring up three toddlers alone, and for me in my career. Finally the Apprentice – a direct reference to another of my paintings, Nicholas in the Renaissance, a tongue-in-cheek self-portrait in which I parodied a depiction of Saint Sebastian to represent the injustices I felt I had suffered when I appeared in the acclaimed BBC television series, The Apprentice series 4. The sugar cube of course alludes to Lord Sugar, the famous business man for whom the “Apprentices” seek to work under the television format. Meanwhile in the foreground, an expanse of water separates my current life from my childhood, albeit only marginally, and that youth is symbolised my a self-standing rock in the bottom right of the canvas representing my family, a symbol which took on a whole new poignancy when my brother-in-law was killed last December. Meanwhile, in the rock pools to the left, also representative of my childhood, the smallest of shells represents the heady days of my youth when climbing over coastal rocks I would collect shells, affixing them onto little snails I had modelled which I would then sell at local fairs. Some could say it was the start of my art career. They were certainly formative years. So there we have it, my life on a large (120cm x 120cm) canvas in oil paint. I’m awfully proud of this painting, and also glad to have persevered over such a protracted period. The result is a truly reflective glimpse of my life as it stands and also acts for me as a kind of closure on all that is past. Now I look forward to a whole new chapter of my life, with all the artistic expression which will inevitably go hand in hand alongside it. © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2013. 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.

Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 24: A family tragedy (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 18: My Art and my Paris (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Days 20-23: Rock pools (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 17: Travel/ Gastronomy (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 19: Infanta España (daily-norm.com)

May 1

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George Bellows: Modern American Life

Bulging, twisting angry red bodies reminiscent of Francis Bacon’s cannibalistic, melting forms; great muscular bodies gripped in a violent embrace; long horizontal lines capturing the figures within an illuminated, elevated fighting platform; and a blood-thirsty zealous crowd, their faces hideously disfigured as they vie for blood, sweat and mighty great punches on their night out at the boxing ring – these are the captivating images of the 1900s boxing underworld for which the American artist, George Bellows, is renowned, and which form the focus of the Royal Academy’s new exhibition: George Bellows 1882-1925 Modern American Life. Yet as the exhibition attempts to point out, Bellows painted much more than the poignant punches of his most famous images.

I wasn’t aware of Bellows before this show – and I excuse this gap in my art historical knowledge by virtue of the fact that this is the first Bellows retrospective to ever come to the UK, and because, to my knowledge, no or few Bellows works are held in the UK national collections. Moreover, while Bellows was a classmate of the much celebrated Edward Hopper, his career was much shorter – he died at a poultry 43, barely before he had ever got going. And yet the works which he did complete in his short life present us with an unparalleled view of turn-of-the-20th century New York, focusing on the many facets of a city in flux; from the gritty and sinister sweaty boxing underworld and the bustling expanse of Times Square, to the elegant perambulations of the richer citizens in out of town parks; from traumatic, emotionally intense depictions of war, to almost fantastical, saccharine scenes of picnics and fishermen in the outer countryside surrounding the city.

Club NIght (1907)

Stag at Sharkey’s (1909)

It’s perhaps no wonder that Bellows was so undyingly fascinated by New York City. Coming from a comfortable middle-class Ohio background, he would have been unprepared for the extremes of the city when he arrived there at just 22 years of age. Yet falling under the influence of artist Robert Henri, who was his teacher at the New York School of Art and who encouraged his students to eject the idealised and sentimental depictions of life favoured by the art scene at that time, and instead pursue a more unique expression of reality, Bellows soon found himself seeking out the more insalubrious, undesirable quarters of the city, and there depicting some of his most renowned works, from groups of naked immigrants bathing in the city’s dirty rivers, and builders clearing vast blocks of the city to construct a huge new homage to the modern railway, to the great bustling, smokey squares of central New York, full of workers and citizens from every spice of life, and of course those wonderfully intense boxing masterpieces.

New York (1911)

But Bellows did not limit himself to this harsher side of New York. Following his initial trawl through the unsavoury and illegal hangouts of the city, he soon moved onto depictions of a more civilised, elegant facade, with paintings of strolling couples, of elegant groups laden with white parasols and large sunhats picnicking out in the parks like something straight out of Seurat’s paintings of Paris, and of families walking out amongst snowy hills and landscapes. This is a changed side of Bellows, but no less fascinating to behold, not least because it somehow fits uneasily into the common perception of the New York of these times, and because, by comparison with Bellow’s earlier body of work, this happy, idle lifestyle appears almost reckless in its apparent disregard for the hardship of the real gritty city which lay at the heart of the nearby urban sprawl.

A Day in June (1913)

Summer Night, Riverside Drive (1909)

Blue Snow the Battery (1910)

Yet for all his insightful depictions of a modern American life, perhaps the most captivating works of Bellow’s career were those which had no connection to America whatsoever: At the centre of the exhibition are Bellow’s depictions of war, works inspired by the horrors of the First World War in Europe which Bellows had read about in the American press. All five resulting paintings, four of which are on show at the Royal Academy, are conspicuously anti-German, showing the Germans in a devastating light as the perpetrators of previously unseen levels of horrific savagery, such as the Massacre at Dinant which depicts the unprovoked, summary execution of Belgian civilians following the sacking of their town which stood in neutral territory, and The Barricade, which shows the Germans using Belgian innocents as a human shield. The paintings are emotive, powerful and really quite breathtaking.

Massacre at Dinant (1918)

The Barricade (1918)

The Germans Arrive (1918)

Likewise exceptional was the next room showing Bellows lithography – his brilliant printworks which were likewise used to stunning effect in depicting similarly shocking scenes such as The Law is Too Slow which shows an African American being burnt alive at the stake while surrounded by an apparently calm, even entertained crowd of white Americans. In his print works, Bellows shows himself as a master printer – he uses dark and light to maximum effect, while his faultless illustration of flesh tone in the print version of his later boxing scenes easily outstrips the paintings of the same subject.

The law is too slow (1922)

Splinter Beach (1912)

Counted Out No.2 (1921)

After this highpoint of the show, the exhibition ends on something of a low in a gallery of overly insipid, saccharine fantastical depictions which look almost Chagall-like in style and appear to represent an uncomfortable diversion from Bellows more intense former work – even his later boxing paintings have nothing like the level of intensity as his boxing works painted 15 years before. The gallery is full of twee and sometimes stiff family portraits which resemble the work of Manet but without anything close to his emotional depth, as well as landscapes which are so excessively sentimental with their white horses and picture-perfect symmetrical mountain landscapes that Bellows’ former teacher, Robert Henri must have been turning in his grave – or at least would have done had he not outlived Bellows.

The Picnic (1924)

The White Horse (1922)

A Fisherman’s Family (1923)

George Dempsey and Firpo (1924)

For George Bellows died shortly after depicting these more sugary of his works, suffering from a sudden ruptured appendix and peritonitis. His career was one cut short, but perhaps just in time before his later My Little Pony style of painting threatened to overshadow the truly superb achievements of his former body of work; an oeuvre which now stands out, next to the likes of Edward Hopper, as a truly unique collective depiction of modern American life.

George Bellows: Modern American Life is on at the Royal Academy until 9 June 2013. Details and tickets can be found on the RA website.

Apr 29

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Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 24: A family tragedy

I set out painting my Autobiographical Mobile in June last year, and wrote my first post on the painting (once I realised it would take me some time to complete) back in August. The intention was to paint a mobile like structure, balancing from its various offshoots both the good and bad experiences of my life so far. In this way, the mobile would tell my story, acting as a autobiographical self-portrait through symbolism alone. Yet when I was planning out the painting back in the summer of last year, I could never have known that when designing how to represent the bad experiences of my life so far that a further, horrendous family tragedy would occur, rocking my world and the lives of my family forever.

Three days before Christmas last year, my brother in law was killed – hit by a car. He left behind my sister and their three children: two year old twins and a 4 year old – all boys. It’s not been something I’ve addressed directly on this blog: before now it felt too soon to address so traumatic an experience on this platform. And even now it’s too tender to describe in words. Yet as with my own road traffic accident five years before, there is no underestimating the relief which artistic representation has given me in being able to work through the pain that tragedy brings.

When his death occurred, Christmas died. The sparkle, the light, the glory and excitement of Christmas was automatically extinguished like a glass of water poured suddenly over a candle. The continuing presence of the decorations around us felt somehow awkward, almost insulting, like someone wearing bright pink at a funeral. And once those decorations were packed away, the world left behind was in so many ways changed from what it had been when we had taken them out, full of the spirit of Christmas only a few weeks before.

In my home what remained after Christmas had been packed away was my Autobiographical Mobile painting, sat on my easel still incomplete, but already including what I had previously considered to be a completed “bad experiences” side of the mobile. Staring at the painting it dawned on me, that no aspect of this work, like a living breathing organism in our home, was ever going to be finished until the last brushstroke had been applied – in the meantime it was a continuing record of my life, and this grave family tragedy would now have to have its place on the canvas.

Already painted pre-Christmas was what I had thought of as the “family rock” – a large rock in the bottom right of the canvas, against which a small golly-doll, representing my mother, and a caravan representing family childhood holidays are placed. Those representations remain, but now in a different guise. For wrapped around the rock, ensnaring, entangling the family, the doll, and the caravan in its sinuous web is a police ribbon taken straight from an accident scene. Nothing in the family is free from its reach – it is all-encompassing, a symbol of the inescapable consequences of a family death, a loss of life which affects so many, irreparably, now and into the future.

But the image goes further. Atop the rock, a seagull is standing, trying, hard as it might to break the ribbon away, a tear rolling from its eye as it comes to terms with the struggle. The seagull is my sister. We always used to call seagulls “Cathy’s friends” because they always seemed inexorably attracted to her when we were on beach holidays – maybe something to do with the snacks she was eating! The seagull – my sister – looks upwards in the direction of a cage, and in that cage is a bright yellow bird, trapped with three small babies, imprisoned within the confines of its own destiny: responsibility enclosing the bird with an iron fist.

Meanwhile, down at the bottom of the painting, a tire track has imprinted itself through the sand, plunging directly into the rock – the impact of the accident, hitting my family hard. None can escape, although some of us got off lighter than others – around the golly (my mother), a manufacturing certificate hangs outside the confines of the police ribbon. It bares a signature. It’s mine.

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2001-2013. 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.

Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 17: Travel/ Gastronomy (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 18: My Art and my Paris (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 19: Infanta España (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Days 20-23: Rock pools (daily-norm.com)

Apr 28

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Printmaking Progress I

I headed along to the Royal Academy of Arts yesterday for the London Original Print Fair. According to the website, it’s the longest-running specialist print fair in the world and yet, I am embarrassed to admit, I’d never heard of it before. Having been abundantly inspired by the prints room at last year’s Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, I never realised that only two months before, the whole Academy is veritably given over to the heterogenous medium of printmaking. And it couldn’t have come at a better time – as I unveiled on The Daily Norm last week, I am now a very eager printmaking student myself, having completed a weekend’s beginners intaglio and etching, and now enrolled upon the intermediate course, with esteemed printmaker Victoria Browne my very enthusiastic and gracefully patient teacher.

©Trevor Price – The Feast II

Wondering around the fair, which comprised some 50 galleries and print dealers selling an array of prints from £100 works by lesser-known artists, to 5-figure editions by the likes of Lichtenstein and Francis Bacon (and what I wouldn’t do for one of those), it dawned on me just how fantastically versatile the medium of print really is. While after only 3 days in the attempt, I now feel sufficiently versed in lino printing and etching to at least understand the basics of the medium, I haven’t even got started on dry point, on lithographs, on soft-ground etching, on screen printing. Yet with a beginner’s understanding of at least some print techniques, I was able to enjoy this comprehensive show of prints with a knowing and enthusiastic eye, taking inspiration from the array of prints on offer, and even making a small purchase of a beautiful Cornish-inspired supper scene by distinguished print-artist Trevor Price which was relief-printed and priced mercifully at the lower end of the scale!

Meanwhile back at home my head is awash with ideas for my own future print creations and an eagerness to learn new techniques. This week I’m due to learn aquatint, a method by which tone is added to the basic lines of an etching. I’ll be adding aquatint to my current etching plate which I can now very proudly unveil. As something of a follow up to my first etching, this one is also set out a Mallorcan beach, and borrows form my Autobiographical Mobile painting in its motif of a Fortnum and Mason’s hamper atop a rock. Meanwhile. down below, a group of perplexed Norms look up at the hamper, as much confused by its appearance as they are slightly scared by its precarious placing upon the rock’s peak.

My second etching pre-aquatint stage (© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown)

The etching drawn into the black “ground” pre-exposure to acid

I hope to be able to show you an aquatinted version of this plate very soon! In the meantime, I cannot extol the virtues of printmaking enough – fill your homes, check out the print works of the great artists and attend print fairs everywhere – original canvases are so yesterday.

A Prelude to Printmaking – Part 1: Etching (daily-norm.com)
A Prelude to Printmaking – Part 2: Linocut (daily-norm.com)

Apr 25

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Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Days 20-23: Rock pools

It’s hard to believe that this post represents only days 20-23 of this painting. Something surely has to have gone wrong with this account, for in only now approaching the end of this vast project, it feels like I have been painting for months. I have, in fact, been working on this canvas for sometime – since June last year in fact (albeit intermittently) which just goes to show how little time I actually have to paint now that I am a full time lawyer, blogger and new found sketcher and printmaker.

All the same, sometimes the best results are achieved with a little patience and plenty of hard work, and this aphorism is no better proved than with the latest additions to my autobiographical canvas – 4 days painting rock pools. Hard to believe that they would take so long, but each of the little rock forms, which create balance at the foot of my canvas, reflecting the large mountainous forms above in the sandy stretch below, has its own peculiar shape and character. And since each rock comes straight from my imagination, this isn’t a simple case of painting what’s in front of me. Rather, a process of trial and error commences as I try to paint rocks straight from the soul, with a lightness of approach at first as I allow the naturalistic forms to almost metamorphose innately from a wider brush stroke. Then once I feel and see a shape begin to form, I start filling in the painstaking details with a small brush.

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The result is a satisfying swathe of rocks and water which add shape and texture to the lower foreground of my work. Reminding me of the hours spent climbing in amongst the various rock pools of the beaches of Jersey in the Channel Islands every summer throughout my childhood, collecting little shells which I later made into little models of snails, these rock forms are an important reflection on the younger years of my life as I explore my story so far on this autobiographical canvas.

Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 18: My Art and my Paris (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 17: Travel/ Gastronomy (daily-norm.com)
Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 19: Infanta España (daily-norm.com)

Apr 24

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A Prelude to Printmaking – Part 2: Linocut

Following yesterday’s post, introducing my first ever attempt at etching to the world, here is my first ever attempt at lino cutting. Linocut, which is a form of relief printmaking, involves cutting into linoleum, which, while originally conceived for flooring, has been used by printmakers for almost as long because of its soft surface for cutting while retaining a sufficient durability for printing.

Linocutting is perhaps even trickier to get your head around than etching. This is because you use the same piece of lino to make a print of various colours. In order to “protect” each colour, you cut away at the lino further between prints, going from light to dark because light colours will never show up when printed over darker inks.

Cutting into lino

So to explain further, you first cut away from the lino anything you want to remain white. This is because the ink will never touch those cut away areas when the ink is rolled over the lino, so once applied to paper, the paper will remain white where the cuts are. Once you’ve got the hang of that and printed your first colour, the same then applies again to that colour – once you roll a darker colour over the lino, it will simply print on top of the first colour unless you cut more of the lino away to protect it. And so it continues for each layer of colour.

We worked with three colours, but with no forward planning on the details of my image, it was extremely difficult to work backwards and think of the image in terms of light going into shadow, and what colours needed to be preserved and what cut away. The lino also proved difficult to cut in a controlled manner.

The result is something a little coarse, but it’s a finish which I think works really well with the theme – Mexican Norm! Here is the finished print (I printed an edition of 5):

Mexican Norm (linocut print)

…and here is the lino after it’s final cut.

Linocutting was not a technique I loved as much as etching, largely because I find the process of making the image in etching easier to control. Nevertheless I was delighted with the results achieved through linocutting and would certainly like to give it a go again.

Norm prints a plenty, here we come…

Apr 23

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A Prelude to Printmaking – Part 1: Etching

I’ve never really paid much attention to prints, and still less black and white prints which, in a gallery full of paintings never seemed to capture my attention. All of this began to change around last summertime. The first trigger was the Royal Academy’s annual Summer Exhibition where, amongst the numerous galleries full of paintings of often rather questionable quality, I found myself inexorably drawn to the print gallery, a room packed to the rafters with prints of every conceivable style, technique and colour (and in fact bought two!).

Lucian Freud, Man Posing (1985)

The second trigger came on a visit to the Courtauld Gallery at London’s Somerset House, where a newly acquired collection of Lucian Freud etchings had been hung. I was completely entranced by these works, which, in their monotone black and white seemed to shift focus from what is usually Freud’s fleshy textured paintwork to the almost visceral, fervid lines and cross hatchings by which Freud had reimagined many of his painted portraits in this new medium. In particular I adored Freud’s etching Man Posing (1985) in which the use of etching as a medium seemed to me so artfully applied to capture every hair, muscle and contour of the figure’s naked body.

Completely captivated, I went home and that very evening researched the internet for tips on how to etch. I very soon realised that unlike painting, etching would not be so easy to self-teach, and promptly enrolled myself for a printmaking course at the Art Academy in London Bridge (there being no introductory course dealing exclusively with etching).

Having now done this short weekend course, I can unconditionally say that I am hooked on printmaking, and on etching in particular. On the course we undertook two techniques – one was relief work (we used lino cutting – which I’ll tell you all about in Part 2 of this post); the other was the much anticipated etching technique, something which I found every bit as enjoyable to execute as I had taken delight in looking at Freud’s finished prints.

Another favourite etching – Edward Hopper, Night Shadows (1921)

The process of etching is surprisingly fiddly. Of a whole day’s work in the studio, I probably spent a maximum of around 45 minutes actually drawing out my image onto plate – the remainder of the time was engaged in preparation and printing. Etching uses metal (we used zinc) and an image is etched into the plate using acid. That plate is then plied with ink and used to print an edition. So how does it all work? Well basically, once you’ve got yourself a metal plate (and carefully degreased it), you apply a dark “ground”. This is the layer which protects the metal when it is placed in acid. Once applied, you use a needle to draw your image. It is this process which reveals the metal underneath which will then be “etched” into the metal once acid is applied. So the process of drawing into the ground is a somewhat perplexing one – not only do you have to plan the image in reverse, but you’re also working in the colour negative, cross-hatching into metal to create shadows on your print, when what you end up drawing appears to be light on dark.

Anyway, I’m getting a little techy and I’m sure what you actually want to see is the result. And here it is: Sailor Norm on a beach in Mallorca (holding a fish). I probably ought to think of a better title, so any suggestions are welcome.

Here’s the metal plate with the image etched into it.

Then below, you can see what it looks like once printed: a series of prints which shows me experimenting with ink removal. In the first, I removed all the ink off the plate apart from the application of ink to the narrow etched lines. In the second, I left a little ink on the plate to create a moodier effect, and for the third and fourth left more and more, specifically targeting certain areas where I wanted more shadow. My favourite is probably the second or third. What do you think?

Sailor Norm on a beach in Mallorca (holding a fish) – print 1

Sailor Norm on a beach in Mallorca (holding a fish) – print 2

Sailor Norm on a beach in Mallorca (holding a fish) – print 3

Sailor Norm on a beach in Mallorca (holding a fish) – print 4

So that’s my first etching done, and with an intermediate course now booked, I cannot wait to create more and explore this new medium further. The etching is truly my oyster…

Apr 10

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Mallorca (Part VII) – Day 4: Palma, city of art

After two days of travel both Westwards along to Andratx, and Northbound along the rickety mountain pass of the Ferrocarril de Soller, we thought that it was probably about time we stayed put in Palma for once. After all, the city is close to bursting at the seams with cultural, gastronomic and historical attractions for the discerning city visitor, so it was only right that we should spend a day pursuing such pleasures (also, being that the Saturday was the one day between an almost solid block of Easter public festivals when all the museums were actually open, we thought we had better make the most of it).

I’ve already mentioned that Palma is a city which is exceptionally well-endowed with art aplenty, especially in proportion to its size. In Palma, not only do you have the temple to contemporary and modern art that is Es Baluard, but in addition there are two museums founded by the formerly super-rich March family, one by Juan March and the other by his son Bartolomé, both of which boast an impressive array of contemporary art; there are various bank-owned foundations, displaying, usually for free, their own permanent collections and temporary exhibitions; and in addition there are a spattering of privately owned art galleries and collections rising up all over Palma’s elegant historic streets.

The Palau March

Sculpture out on the terrace of the Palau March

It was to the two March centres of art that we ventured first, starting with the impressive Barbie pink, colonnaded private palace of the Bartolomé March household, the Palau March, which sits astride both the Almudaina palace and the Cathedral, thus demonstrating from its position alone just how unfathomably rich Señor March must have been.

Upon entering the palace, you arrive on an open colonnaded terrace with commanding views over the Avenida Antoni Maura and the port beyond it, views which could however be missed, such are the array of attention-grabbing contemporary sculptures on display. Amongst March’s fine collection are some of the biggest names of 20th century sculpture, from an organic, curvaceous twin structure by Barbara Hepworth, to an impressive bronze torso by Rodin. However, of the various sculptures on show, our favourite had to be the sculpture by Joan Robert Ipousteguy (Untitled, 1920), an entirely captivating piece, were an almost fused interlocked embrace of two lovers carved in a smooth rounded marble is interrupted by the odd hole or chasm, inviting the viewer to peer into the sculpture for the details which lay, almost hidden from view, inside the marble, such as the passionately intertwined tongues of the kissing lovers, to a view of a small air pocket, seemingly created in the gaps between their bodies, in which defined body parts can just about be made out. How the sculptor achieved such startling detail in the most inaccessible of places I will never know.

Hepworth, Autumn (1966)

Joan Robert Ipousteguy (Untitled, 1920)

Inside the Ipousteguy

Rodin torso

Having been enthralled by the sculpture on the outside, we were equally captivated in the inside of the palace, first by a vast 18th century Neopolitan nativity scene, full of fantastic details, including scenes of whole villages, shops, dwellings and landscapes asides from the main nativity scene; second by a collection of superb Dali print works, which were religiously charged throughout. Then, moving upwards through the palace, we gazed in wonder at some of the ceiling frescos which had been painted there, as recently as the 1940s. One scene in particular, in which a series of gymnasts hanging off variously sized hot air balloons were rising and falling in the illusionary airspace, was particularly original in its depiction – it certainly beats the normal scenes of cherubs and angels.

Leaving the palace, and soaking in sunshine over a cafe on a cobbled terrace beyond, we headed up through the colourful yellow and green Plaça Major, full of street performers and excitable tourists and locals alike, past Palma’s ancient olive tree, and onto the second of the March cultural foundations, this time founded, from what I can gather, by Bartolomé’s father, Juan March. His collection forms the Museum of Contemporary Spanish Art a superb collection of the Spanish greats such as Dali, Picasso and Miro as well as many lesser well-recognised names. While the collection is quite small, it’s free to see, and held within the beautiful old palace where Juan March was born.

The Plaça Major

My particular favourite of the collection was the transformation of Velazquez’s famous Las Meninas into a modern domestic scene by Spanish art duo, Equipo Cronica. As I have since discovered, this is one of many reimaginations that the duo have made of Las Meninas and other iconic Spanish works. We also thoroughly enjoyed a temporary exhibition of the work of artist Eduardo Arroyo, who through both photography and painting created a whole series of magnificent portraits, of both famous artists and personalities, and people personal to his own life. I particularly enjoyed his photographs, covered with round stickers to create a polka-dot veil, semi-obscuring the portrait, a little like Lichtenstein but taken one step further. Also particularly original and whimsical were his painted parodies of artists such as Van Gogh and Fernand Leger.

Equipo Cronica, The Little Room (1970)

The Eduardo Arroyo exhibition

Eduardo Arroyo’s portrait of Leger (in the foreground)

Subsequently, and I’m not entirely sure how (it’s exhausting me even describing it), we wandered into yet another art gallery following the March foundation, this time the Fundacio La Caixa, a brilliant cultural foundation run by the Caixa bank and held within the stunning modernist building which used to house Mallorca’s Gran Hotel (see my photography post tomorrow for more on Palma’s modernismo architecture). The foundation lays on various temporary exhibitions throughout the year, such as the one currently on show examining past and modern high rise buildings and towers. But my favourite aspect of the foundation is their permanent collection, and in particular the works of Mallorcan artist Anglada-Camarasa, who painted vast canvases literally alive with a plethora of vivid colours used to describe pictorially the spirit and fervour of Spanish gypsy culture, flamenco, fiestas, and Valencian costume.

Anglada-Camarasa’s vast work, Valencia (1910)

Exhausted, and almost overwhelmed by the artistic capacity of what is fundamentally a small Spanish city, we lunched and rested before setting out for more of a tranquil afternoon within the shady narrow back streets of the historic core of Palma in the vicinity of the Cathedral. There, not far from the Plaça Major, we indulged in a time of contemplation in the stunningly tranquil sun-dreched cloisters of the Real Convento de San Francisco, followed by a further dalliance with history`in the nearby Arab Baths, the last surviving wholly-Moorish building in the city, and also with its own seductively serene gardens in which to enjoy the sunshine dappled through the verdant hanging palms, lush ferns and vivid pink geraniums.

The cloisters of the Real Convento de San Francisco

…and the Convent’s stunning exterior

The Arab baths and gardens

Finally, believing the day’s activities to be at an end, Palma pulled out yet a further artistic treasure from its magic hat of apparently ceaseless culture – the Museo Can Morey de Santmarti which holds a vast and completely impressive collection of some 200 lithographs, etchings and other prints by Salvidor Dali. And thus ending the day as we had begun it, we gazed again at the thrilling works of this Surrealist master, but this time doing so almost on our knees, such was the exhaustion of our legs after so comprehensive a day of artistic and historical discovery – a state of physical exhaustion which is clearly testament to the sheer abundance and variety of attractions on offer in this utterly compelling Mallorcan city.

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Mallorca (Part I) – Day 1: Banoffee bienvenido back to the good life (daily-norm.com)
Mallorca (Part II) – Photography Focus 1: Semana Santa (daily-norm.com)
Mallorca (Part III) – Day 2: Port d’Andratx and Es Baluard (daily-norm.com)
Mallorca (Part IV) – Food Focus 1: Forn de Sant Joan (daily-norm.com)
Mallorca (Part V) – Day 3: Moorish Mallorca and the Sóller Ferrocarril (daily-norm.com)
Mallorca (Part VI) – Food Focus 2: Simply Fosh (daily-norm.com)

Mar 27

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Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 19: Infanta España

The third of my passions, represented upon the left arm of my autobiographical mobile, is my indisputable love affair with Spain, and with art history. If my heart lives in Paris, then my soul resides in Spain. The chromatic, melancholy chords of a flamenco guitar reach straight into my soul, transporting me to a place of almost otherworldliness tranquility, a land enriched with Moorish heritage, baked in the unyielding summer sun, bearing the scars of a bloody civil war and the ardor of a religious inquisition, wafting afresh with the scents of garlic and pigs and pimenton, sweet syrups and blossoming orange and almond trees, and giving birth to some of the greatest creative minds ever known. Spain is every bit a part of me as the country of my birth, and continues to inspire me in so many areas of my creative manifestation.

Since Spain occupies so many of my thoughts and pleasures, it is unsurprising that in pursuing that other great passion – art history – I have enjoyed a particular focus on the art of Spain, from the incredible innovation of El Greco and the dark, disturbing black paintings of Goya, to the iconic court portraits of Velázquez’s big-skirted princesses, the exquisite surreal mastery of Dali and the fragmented multi-faceted masterpieces of Picasso.

Velázquez’s original Infanta portraits

Las Meninas

Only one image could perfectly capture these dual loves of Spain and art history: Velázquez’s Infanta, the now iconic image of the Spanish Royal Princess in the court of King Philip IV. These world-famous portraits, centrepieces of Madrid’s Prado gallery and culminating in the breathtaking masterpiece, the group portrait Las Meninas, have inspired countless generations of artists, amongst them Dali and Picasso. I painted my own version of the Velázquez greats in the form of Infanta Norm, and could not resist exploring the image again in this representation of Spain.

Infanta Norm (After Velázquez) (2011, acrylic on canvas) © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown

My new image of the Infanta is also a representation of Spain, with her dress painted to resemble both the colours of the Spanish flag and also a bull ring. I always loved Bullfighting as a teenager, and while the bloody sight of death in the afternoon was always a shocking one for someone unused to such a spectacle, there is no denying the elegance of the matador’s costumes (the traje de luces), the contrast of red against the black of the panting bull, the grand parades of the picadores, and the wonderful pomposity of the emboldening paso doble playing in the background. By way of further representation of the Corrida, my Infanta España holds the banderillas which are inserted into the taunted bull, and the pink and gold capote (cape) which is waved in front of its maddened eyes.

My Infanta España in progress

The finished Infanta España

But Spain isn’t just about the bull fighting. Also represented is Spain’s all important tourism industry, here illustrated through my Infanta’s rather fetching sunglasses. We British could do with a bit of that sun right now…

Until next time – Viva España!

Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 17: Travel/ Gastronomy (daily-norm.com)

Mar 26

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Autobiographical Mobile: My painting diary – Day 18: My Art and my Paris

I couldn’t be much more passionate about the second of my painted “favourite things” if I tried. The next metaphor of my life’s great loves to make it onto my latest large canvas – my Autobiographical Mobile – is Art, and Paris.

Paris was the city that made me who I am today. It started on a school trip, when my teacher led me, her hands covering my eyes, into the Place du Tertre atop the Butte de Montmartre, and quickly uncovering them, revealed a scene of such lavish character, such indubitable gyrating ecstatic energy and historical charm that I fell in love. My heart dropped to the cobbled paving beneath my feet, and has stayed in the heart of Montmartre, beating there ever since. Now, when I plug myself into the city on an almost annual basis, I cannot help but swarm mesmerised around the quaint streets, meander around the boutique-lined boulevards, and lounge like a flaneur outside the street cafes and in leafy parks, gazing in never-ending admiration at the beauty of the urban landscape around me.

Le Paris Formidable (2000, acrylic on canvas) © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown

With Paris came Art. For not only does the city ooze creativity from its every crack and surface, but it has also inspired some of the most illustrious artists in recent art history. As well as the slightly less illustrious ones, like me. While I had been painting for some years, the real turning point of my career, when I went from doodles and watercolours to large scale canvases, was when at the age of 16 I embarked on one of my greatest projects, and still my second biggest canvas ever, Le Paris Formidable.

Le Paris aimed to show my beloved Paris from various unusual standpoints, and one of my favourite images was my depiction of the Sacre Coeur, the church atop Montmartre, as a series of eggs in egg cups and split open lavishing the surrounding blue canvas with their eggy contents. The image spoke both of the architectural charisma of this multi-domed church, as well as the inherent fragility of a 21st century Catholic Church. In one dome in particular, a French baguette plunged into the waiting yolky contents like an egg soldier, but also the body of Christ, while his blood, the wine, was represented by the main dome upturned like a communion chalice.

The real thing…

In this new painting I have replicated the egg soldier image, but with some extra frills. Both parts of the egg, and the baguette, are connected to the mobile by what looks like rosary beads, but whose religious imagery is replaced by symbols of Paris – the iconic Eiffel Tower proclaiming that Art and Paris are my ultimate passion: My Religion.

My progress

The finished image

I find it particularly satisfying to compare both this egg and the egg of my 16 year old self – a first great painting, when my untrained skills we still naive. My skills now (although still untrained) have improved, and I feel confident in my ability to better understand light and shadow and dimension so much better than 13 years ago. Yet the idea of my 16 year old self – the Sacre Coeur as eggs – is almost surprisingly impressive to me, innovation which my adult self may struggle to come up with, but which works so well now in this revolution of my art – art revisited for this autobiographical expression of my life, on canvas.