West Bristol Arts Trail

Exhibition by Clifton College Art Staff

I must admit to being someone who loves going to shows, art shows I mean, almost irrespective of what I find inside. It is the sight and sound of people looking at pictures and statues, talking about them, appreciating that very special process that produces such creativity, I suppose. True, there are always some who are there to keep out of the rain or because circumstances dictate, but by and large you get to see people in a way you don’t normally get to see them. As Hockney would perhaps observe, or maybe Alan Bennett, it’s rather like being allowed inside their living room and seeing them in their dressing gowns and slippers...

What is even better, though, is if the art is good too and perhaps has that odd surprise buried somewhere in the pack, something to knock you out of your complacency and make you think a while. A new technique maybe, something you might try and use yourself or a new idea, a new perspective. Those are the shows that you really value, the shows you remember down the track.

Well, I’m delighted to say that I went to one of those last week and that it was here in the heart of Clifton College!

Sadly, over the years, there really haven’t been that many exhibitions here, apart of course from the pupils’ work; indeed, I can only recall two or three before this and one of those was a two man project somewhat sidelined to a passage way, so it was with a real sense of anticipation and pleasure that I found myself climbing the steps to the Hornby Centre and entering a room filled with the works of the current Art Staff.

The first impression, apart from the inevitable clusters of humanity gorging on wine and canapés, was one of intense colours and of tightly packed canvas. Normally in an exhibition, each picture is allowed its own particular zone where one can study and appreciate it in an almost reverential isolation, but here the dynamics of the space forbade that and necessitated this profusion of art, with canvases and statues almost tumbling over each other and creating a real sense of energy and colour. Although, it was at times hard to prevent the threads of the working environment, which this was and is, from peeking into the corners of one’s consciousness, the overall effect was actually quite powerful and enabled the differing styles and techniques to suffuse into an intriguing harmony.

Having been greeted by a delightfully expressive Silenus, not I hasten to add a drunken Head of Department, but a surging, delightfully rambunctious throw back to long lost days at Art school, and, by way of contrast, a surprisingly sober Housemaster and his family in an as yet unfinished work, the first set of paintings to meet you were those of Allan Wilkie. And a powerful set of paintings they were too, linked by either models or style, or what seemed to be an ubiquitous bottle of wine and glasses. King and Queen was dark, surprisingly intense, given its superficially relaxed theme, a picture of a couple playing chess, but with so much else implicit in the half drunk bottle of vodka, the long black gloves, the knowing look. This was a delightful piece, filled with contrasts, between the black, the white and the red, between the stillness of the background and the movement of the line in such things as the crumpled clothing, the crumpled face. The effect reminded me somehow of a Caravaggio, it certainly had something of his technique and maybe even his mood. The Waiter, although, again on the surface, a slightly lighter picture, continued in much the same vein. The same two models, the same dynamics, the same knowing look. Again the background was still and again there was a real sense of an almost sexual energy, the man’s hands stretching out across and round the table, at which the two were sat, with a vaguely predatory feel. The technique was also again first rate. Powerful slabs of colour, quick, sharp brush strokes, the composition, the observation of detail, the contrasts of light and dark. Indeed, a really powerful painting.

Connoisseurs, a picture of two men drinking – yes, that bottle and glasses again – in a gallery, also captured a mood, but a different one. This time it was that of a world weary friendship, though the strong contrasts of line and form and the continued use of shadow created an underlying current reminiscent of Edward Hopper. Not quite Nighthawks, but there was something there, perhaps in the idea of worlds within worlds created by the gallery window, perhaps in the undertone of film noir. In Etude, the woman – yes, she of the knowing look - had returned, this time at the piano, while the man stood by, still crumpled, still expectant. In this, and in Detective, No Messages and Haunted House, the same themes could be seen, the same detail. There was, throughout, a delightful sense of narrative, particularly in the unspoken relationships, a narrative that was in a way similar to Hockney’s paintings of couples that went on show a couple of years ago. There was also the same ability to create movement and tension in the stillness. A rare gift.

In addition to this main set, there was also a group of delightfully well observed pencil drawings of the artist’s daughter (in the same triptych format as Van Dyck’s Charles 1) and a collection of pictures that featured groups of girls at an open door, more pastel in tone, but similarly suggestive – the tilt of the body, the slight transparency of a dress, the putting on or taking off a shoe – and with similar, if more understated, contrasts, this time between still form and the dynamic background. All in all, a very powerful presentation which demonstrated considerable technique and style, as well as creating impressive atmosphere and undertone and, at the same time, delivering the odd subtle nod to some of the greats.

The next set of paintings, well they were actually split into two different sets in two separate parts of the exhibition, were those of Jane Wolf. The first was a group of vibrant pictures of standing stones set against the power of the sea. And power was very much the word. Vivid colours, large sweeps of paint, dynamic brushwork, all capturing the mood and elemental character of the waves threatening the slender mast like stones in their midst. Again there was that contrast between the stillness and the movement, though this time the contrast was much more extreme. Her other set, three Winter seascapes depicted in layers of white paint and lines of twisted canvas, was an absolute delight. This was the surprise that, as I have already said, a good exhibition must have. The subtle variations in tone drew the eye inexorably in and gave each painting a real sense of depth and mystery. There was also, in one at least, great Turner-esque sweeps of sky that somehow vitalised the whole scene. But, just as important, was the emotional core that lay there beneath the paint. This is the mark, I think, of a really good picture and these, like the Black on Blacks of the new Rothko exhibition, certainly had that. In all ways, a stunning set!

By way of contrast, which was gradually emerging as the leitmotif of the whole show, there was then an island of photographs, the work of Paul Wigginton. Now, while I must admit to knowing very little about photography – as my friends will quickly testify, technology and I are the barest of acquaintances – I have long been delighted to see this emerging as an increasingly accepted art form. It has, after all, been used by artists since the very earliest days. The collection was divided into two: panoramic views (4 or 5 frames digitally stitched together) of beaches in the north of Scotland that captured the clear light and subtle colours of the Highlands and conveyed a brooding, watching mood that anyone who has been to that area will recognize only too well, and almost microscopic shots of flowers, or, to be more precise, aspects of flowers. The detail here was awesome! Delicate tendrils, textures that ranged from the succulent to the toughness of elephant skin, worlds within a world. I have seen similar things before, but I still find it fascinating. A bit like Blake’s world within a grain of sand, I suppose. There were also a few pictures which had kept on going until they were simply studies of light and colour, in a way the essence of art.

Sally Nuttall is an artist whose work I have known for a long time and I have always admired her exquisite control of a medium I find almost impossible: watercolours. But here, although there were some of her softly enchanting and characteristic water coloured scenes of Devon beaches, with houses nestling comfortably in the folds and the clouds scudding over the tranquil land, and some pictures of Caribbean banana trees in intense yellows and greens, there was also a set of oils. Pine trees on the cliff edge overlooking the sea. And these were something of a departure. The careful, painstaking precision of the former medium replaced by strong, powerful brush strokes and intense bursts of light; pastel tones replaced by brooding pockets of shadow and a backcloth of vivid Cobalt blue. The effect was impressive, capturing as it did the same movement and stillness, the same energy and depth already referred to. Above all else, they had a delightful sense of freedom and expression, something well worth cultivating.

Ceramics is another art form that I must again confess to knowing little of, so it took a certain amount of explanation from Deidre Houghton for me to understand what it took to produce her exhibits. She also spoke of her roots in West Ireland, Galway I think, and her fascination for the sea. And as I studied her work, a series of shell like objects or waves climbing and being climbed by sea horse or leaping fish, the subtleties and themes began to percolate through. Here were the effects of light on water, here were the different moods of the sea as it responded to the elements in its own elemental way. So, effervescent blues duly cascaded into darker hues and they in turn swirled and grew green and were transformed into a crashing wave that was surmounted and symbolised by a stalking tiger. Another surprise.

Finally, there was John Grice. I deliberately left him to last, because he is a good friend and someone I have recently painted, well sketched with and, in addition, I wanted to savour pictures which I have, in a way, watched develop since their birth. And savour them I did! His series of big canvases, depicting different types of flowers in a glass vase, was again a departure from his previous style. Not just in the topic matter, but in the size, in the huge colours he is now using, in the expression and intensity with which he has approached the project. All of this, allied to his craftsmanship and his unrelenting attention to the basics of observation and detail, has produced a really powerful set of pictures in a mixture of acrylics and oils.

Here, against a simplistic, static backcloth of two or three primary colours, a backcloth that served to focus the energy and movement of the plants, there were red hot pokers that bristled in vibrant reds and greens, above roots that curled and writhed like eels in a tank; fulsome tulips almost bursting with sexual ripenes, the lustful purples of their petals blending beautifully with the deep greens of their stems; thrusting echinaceae, all pinks and reds and with purple hearts that seemed on the point of exploding like huge arrays of carnival rockets; wild dancing cardoons in their purple and white dresses, swaying mesmerically to a secret tune; exploding lilies of white and yellow, their trumpet mouths full of virginal vigour; butterfly anemones fluttering their wings of red and white, purple and blue. It was, in all senses, pretty overwhelming. Indeed, it was quite a while before the heady feel of the flowers faded enough for me to appreciate the fine technique behind the art. The artist here had had all sorts of problems to negotiate – intense foreshortening, the effects of both glass and water, the subtleties of reflection and shadow, not to mention the delicate nuances of tone and shade – but that he had managed to do that, and to do it very well, was clear. These were works of real quality whose technical excellence had captured not just the textures and colours of each of the plants, but their very essence, and, in a strange sort of way, had leant them an almost human character.

They were, I’m pleased to say, works that were well worth waiting for.

So there it was. The first real Art Show here for quite some time. And quite an experience it was too. A whole range of different artists and different mediums, but all capturing the effect of light, the contrast of stillness and movement, the subtleties of shade and shadow, the underlying currents of mood and relationship. The space was, I admit, a bit cramped – and, as I have said before, an institution of this size and centrality really should have its own standing Exhibition Centre! – but that, in the end, didn’t detract that much because the different styles and topics complemented each other well and because the displays were linked by certain key themes and ideas. Yes, I do like art shows, but it is, as I have already said, even better if there are surprises, and this was full of them. From Jane Wolf’s Winter scenes to John Grice and Sally Nuttall’s departures, from the esoteric delights of photography and ceramics to Allan Wilkie’s splendid oils, it was all a delicious surprise.

Indeed I hope that there will be even more such surprises down the track......

Nigel Siddall
October 2008