Painting On Into The Machine Age

'Painting After Technology' Gallery, Tate Modern, London, May 2015.  (L-R): Work By:
Laura Owens, Wade Guyton, Tomma Abts, Albert Oehlen

A few posts back, I wrote belatedly about a gallery trip to London I made earlier this year.  My goal was to visit retrospective exhibitions of work by Richard Diebenkorn and Marlene Dumas, both of which were well worth the trip.  However, with a spare hour to kill at Tate Modern, I also dipped into the latest hang of the permanent collection.  I want to consider a little of what I found there in this post.  Although it’s after-the-event, it all has some bearing on current thoughts about my own work, both recent, and to come.  Interestingly, while the main reason for my visit was to enjoy two favourite artists not directly related to my own stuff, these serendipitous discoveries actually feel surprisingly applicable to it.

Gerhard Richter, 'Cage' Paintings (L-R: '1,2,3'), Tate Modern, London, May 2015

I love such inexplicable ‘gifts’ and, whatever else the Tate may or may not be, I find it a regular source of revealing discoveries or refreshing new juxtapositions.  This is in part due to the curatorial habit of regularly shuffling and recontextualising the collection thematically rather than chronologically, seemingly to avoid standard, tired accounts of Art History.  It may also be due to fact that I visit London less regularly these days.  Several visits a year have now dwindled to one or two, and things I’ve become familiar with over the years can seem a little fresher once more.  Absence makes the heart grow stronger, perhaps.  However, the things that really caught my attention this time were mostly new to me.

Gerhard Richter, 'Cage 1', Oil On Canvas, 2006

Gerhard Richter, 'Cage 2', Oil On Canvas, 2006

I had started by heading straight for Gerhard Richter’s room of ‘Cage’ paintings.  I’ve loved this suite of six, immense, squeegee-dragged abstracts since they were installed in the wake of Richter’s large Tate retrospective in 2012.  As a visitor attraction, it may now serve a similar function to the famous ‘Rothko Room’, in the Tate’s mind, but I find rather more of interest and philosophical complexity in the Richters, these days.  Richter’s technique of repeatedly dragging his accretions of paint over and through each other is simple in essence, but highly complex in terms of outcome.  The ‘Cage’ works actually encapsulate a wealth of insight into the nature of time, process, self-reflexivity, and (of prevailing interest), the materiality of paint.  Notwithstanding his status as an established giant of international painting, he still does it for me as regards balancing Philosophy with a tireless medium.

Gerhard Richter, 'Cage 4', Oil On Canvas, 2006

Gerhard Richter, 'Cage 6', Oil On Canvas, 2006

In an adjacent gallery, entitled ‘Torn Papers And Walls Paper’, I discovered a newly hung trio of pieces of direct relevance to my own recent concerns.  Gordon Matta-Clark’s ‘Walls Paper’ commemorates a more extensive installation of 1972, comprising an entire wall, papered with printed, manipulated photos of part-demolished New York project buildings.  Whilst its near-abstract qualities are engaging in their own right, the piece also appears to engage with issues of architectural transformation and the inadequacy of affordable housing provision.  Covering the walls with repeated images like this suggests both the compartmentalisation of low-rent accommodation, and the pasting of fly-posters within an urban environment.

Gordon Matta-Clark, 'Walls Paper', Printed Paper, Original Installation At David Zwimer Gallery,
New York, 1972

Of even more immediate impact was Jacques Villeglé’s ‘Jazzmen’.  I already knew this piece, as one of his classic found-poster ‘Affiches Lacérées’, but it works particularly well conceptually, in its present company.  Simply re-exhibiting a battered section of advertising material may seem a fairly facile strategy these days, (albeit one that appeals greatly in its directness), but back in 1961 it had considerable radical currency and is clearly in the Duchampian tradition of the ‘Readymade’.  The activities of Villeglé and his fellow ‘Nouveaux Realistes’ appear to antecede and coincide with certain Situationist ideas, not least in their conception of the streets as an arena of self-generating images, texts and potential detournements.  No prizes for guessing why I’m always happy to see this work.

Jacques Mahe De La Villegle, 'Jazzmen', Printed Paper On Canvas, 1961

Mark Bradford, 'Riding The Cut Vein', Paper, Varnish, Silicone, Caulk & Charcoal On Canvas, 2013

The third piece in that gallery, and one of particular relevance to my own recent output, is Mark Bradford’s ‘Riding The Cut Vein’ from 2013.  It’s another mural-sized piece, of incredible intricacy, also constructed from layered posters, (heavily manipulated and abraded, this time).  Appearing initially abstract, the loose, mesh-like geometry extending across its upper portion soon reveals itself as a form of notional, street map.  That is carved into an indescribably nuanced surface, created by employing power tools to sand and grind back through the accumulated paper strata.  The process reveals a dazzling array of colours, patterns and text fragments, like a field of granular micro-clues.  Naturally, all this speaks loudly to my own recent concerns with urban cartography, found texts and hybrid poster-collage.  Spookily coincidental though it may seem, I’d never even heard of Bradford prior to this encounter, (honest, Guv.).  A little Googling suggests I’ll be investigating his oeuvre a lot more in the future.

Mark Bradford, 'Riding The Cut Vein', 2013,  (Detail)

Mark Bradford, 'Untitled', Manipulated & Collaged Posters On Canvas, 2009

If that little room detained me for several enjoyable minutes, I gained even greater stimulation from the larger gallery immediately beyond.  Gathered under the banner of ‘Painting After Technology’, this new hang showcases a selection of big (and big-ish) names in the field of contemporary or near-contemporary Art.  Amongst these, were interesting pieces by Tomma Abts, Charline Von Heyl, Laura Owens, Jacqueline Humphries, Wade Guyton, Sigmar Polke, and, especially pleasingly, Christopher Wool and Albert Oehlen.  Fairly obviously, all can be said to make some specific reference to the relationship between traditional and ‘new’ (be that digital or mechanically reproduced) media [1.].  Polke is, I suppose, the granddaddy here, consciously looking back to the layered halftone, found imagery of Pop Art, as he does.  Along with several others here, he also emphasises the importance of German painting in recent decades.  In that context, (and thinking of daft, old George Baselitz), is it also worth noting how many of these notable artists are women?).

Sigmar Polke, 'Untitled (Square 2)', Oil, Acrylic & Gold Paint On Canvas, 2003

I’ve been thinking about those media relationships a lot recently, whilst the work of both Wool and Oehlen in particular, are recent enthusiasms of mine, without my having actually seen any for real previously.  I initially came to Wool through his ironic, monochrome text paintings, but the large ‘Untitled’ canvas of 2007, represents a looser, more recent mode of wiped, abstraction.  It’s impossible not to find some memory of graffiti in the calligraphic elements, but these paintings are as much about the accumulation of fluid marks through repeated erasures and cancellations.  Wool’s gestural turps-wipes into thinly painted statements, leave a history of swipes, drips, ghost marks, veils and general nuance.  The results are confident in scale, but remain pleasingly nebulous and transitory in overall effect.  They speak of the movement of a human hand, the fluid plasticity of paint, the implied accretion of grime and incoherent texts in city streets, and the ceaseless cycles of statement, partial cancellation and restatement, (ad infinitum), that characterise Wool’s urban context.

Christopher Wool, 'Untitled', Enamel On Canvas, 2007

Were this all that Wool offered, it would be plenty, - but essentially just another iteration of traditional painterly abstraction.  However, as the augmented screen print, ('Untitled', 2009), hanging alongside reveals, Wool’s overall process is one in in which a wide variety of visual statements (and application methods) are endlessly recycled, repurposed and reproduced through photography and print media as well as paint.  Ultimately, nothing feels like a definitive statement, but rather just the latest image in an endless reverie of grimy city streets.  It feels like everything informs everything else, and even the overriding tendency towards abstraction is modified by the significant role of Wool’s bleakly atmospheric documentary photographs in the overall scheme.

Christopher Wool, 'Untitled', Enamel On Screen Print On Paper, 2009

Christopher Wool, 'Absent Without Leave', Photocopied Photograph (Part Of Artist's Book), 1993

Oehlen is another well-established artist who nevertheless sees to occupy a position of continuing relevance (or something to do with what is often called ‘Zeitgeist’).  Earlier work seems to belong to a mode of deliberately awkward German daubing that does relatively little for, but although it’s difficult not to admire the sheer bloody-minded will to stir things up that it implies.  2007’s ‘Loa’, however, represents a more multi-layered mode of combining elements of collaged promotional material with almost arbitrary instances of smeared or sprayed paint and textual references to contemporary music.

Albert Oehlen, 'Loa', Acrylic, Oil, Ink, Spray Paint, Photograph & Paper Collage On Canvas

There’s often a slightly slap-dash, even unfocussed quality about much of this, almost as if Oehlen was drawing upon a grab bag of contemporary stimuli whilst partially distracted.  It’s the kind of thing one might even imagine being made whilst simultaneously watching TV or checking their phone.  And yet, is this not actually highly representative of our current, attention-deficient cultural consciousness?  In fact, there is some variety of awkward formal coherence about much of Oehlen’s work, but one that appears to emerge, as if by accident, through the eventual condensation of suspiciously aimless statements. 

Albert Oehlen, 'Untitled', Oil & Ink On Canvas, 2007

That’s also there in his linear 'Computer Paintings', to some extent.  They could be dismissed as resembling those potentially endless free doodles we all practiced the first time we encountered a PC mouse, but further examination reveals they are actually rather more knowingly constructed.  The combination of free, directly drawn statements, with more deliberately filtered effects of pixilation, or pattern-generation, clearly exploit certain effects intrinsic to the medium.  Intriguingly, they also indicate that it has long-since acquired a kind of recognisable ‘tradition’.

If encountering Wool and Oehlen provided my biggest single excitements, there was much else in the gallery to engage me and provoke thought.  Wade Guyton’s large-scale ink jet print, ‘Untitled’ (2011), exhibits an abstract minimalism that feels distinctly Modernist. However the apparent attempt to print a solid block of ink are full of banding, glitches, accidental marks and empty areas, undermining any sense of seamless mechanical perfection or even, adequate manufacture.  It’s probably no accident that the two halves appear actually seamed together.

Wade Guyton, 'Untitled', Inkjet Print On Linen, 2011

Of all the pieces in the room, Tomma Abt’s thoughtful, little quasi-Op painting, ‘Zebe’, from 2010, stood out for its characteristic modest scale.  It might be possible to make some case for this piece representing the importance of craft, in contrast to the deliberate superficiality, or even vacuity, of certain pieces surrounding it [2.]. Paradoxically though, this tendency towards insubstantiality, or a kind of ungroundedness, feels like one of the qualities that most links much of that work with its particular moment.  It feels less like a problem, once it becomes something perfectly worthy of exploration. [3.]. 

Tomma Abts, 'Zebe', Acrylic & Oil On Canvas, 2010

It may be that, as usual, I’m a decade behind everyone else, but it definitely feels like there are implications, in much of this work, that could usefully inform my own.  Whatever the future holds, there’s little to suggest that our collective perceptions won’t continue to be transformed by advancing digital technology.  This is probably equally true, regardless of whether one actually employs it as a means of production, or simply lets it inform a kind of surface-slide, aesthetically.  One question is, I suppose, to what extent we choose to be shaped by it; to embrace it imaginatively; or to actively push back against any sense of deterministic impotence.

My own feeling is that, as ever, it’s all up for grabs really.  I suspect, someone is already writing an algorithm to simulate the kind of intuitive thought characteristic of painting, but that it may still look (interestingly) more like itself than ‘actual’ painting.  I also trust that artists will still find ways to corrupt any code, on an arbitrary whim, for a little longer yet.  Perhaps, in the long run, some recourse to authenticity, and/or an attitude of subversive adoption, will co-exist as superficially opposed, but equally useful, ways to chart the course ahead.

[1.]:  Dan Perfect would be another artist, with whose work I have become acquainted in the last year or two, and who seems to engage with various, related issues.  Certainly, a process of digital translation appears to unmistakably alter the final appearance of his painting.

[2.]:  There is, indeed, an actual vacancy of ill-resolved paint at the very heart of Oehlen’s ‘Loa’. 

[3.]:  I have heard it claimed that many newer artists now crave a greater sense of authenticity, and even, laughably, that ‘Authenticity’ is now ‘in’, (think about it).

'Somewhat Abstract' At Nottingham Contemporary 1

Nottingham Contemporary, April 2014

I was based in Nottingham for a couple of days over the Easter break, so took the opportunity to drop into Nottingham Contemporary’s latest major exhibition, ‘Somewhat Abstract: Selections From The ArtsCouncil Collection’.  I’ve come to associate The Contemporary with this type of mixed show, in which widely disparate works are assembled around an overriding theme, foregrounding the processes of curation along with those of the artists on display.

In this case, the show focuses on a looser interpretation of Abstraction than merely as a definition of the visually non-representational.  As the title indicates, it draws from the Art’s Council collection of (mostly) post-war British art, and includes plenty of work that is nominally representational or primarily conceptual across a range of media and identifiable traditions.  It’s main agenda would seem to be to question what happens at the edges of abstraction, and those points where the recognisable begins its transformation into something other.  Clearly, this may occur through visual/plastic manipulation, but also, through conceptual processes of abstract thought, formal theory or established ideology.  Impressively, the show gives roughly equal weight to all these modes.

Cynics might object that the real motivation behind such exhibitions is to fill gallery space with whatever is easily (and cheaply?), available and can be assembled around a catch-all theme.  However, I do enjoy the opportunity they often provide to make thought-provoking connections or alternative interpretations, and to make new discoveries.  That is certainly true of this show and it includes several of the latter for me, along with some old friends.  It’s also worth noting that in a genuinely trans-media exhibition, and an era when Conceptualism is often prioritised, painting is rather well represented here.

Enamel, Vegetable & Mineral

‘Somewhat Abstract’ fills all four of The Contemporary’s galleries and I spent several happy hours in there, (punctuated by refreshment breaks on its sunny terrace).  The work is distributed around the separate spaces according to distinct shared concerns, and one could focus on each quite satisfyingly over repeat visits.  I found some of these curated sub-themes slightly more convincing than others and, with time on my hands, was content to immerse myself in the show as a whole.  I made various connections of my own as I went along; returning to spend more time with those works that particularly intrigued me.  As they were numerous, I’ll highlight the paintings here, and deal with work in other media in a subsequent post.

John Hoyland, 'Red Over Yellow 18-9-73', Acrylic On Canvas, 1973

John Hoyland, ‘Red Over Yellow 18-9-73’, Acrylic On Canvas, 1973:  The work of British painter, John Hoyland seems lost in time these days, (Art Historically, at least).  His muscular paintings from the 1970s represent the very end of an American tradition of ‘heroic’, painterly abstraction, and of many of the assumptions about painting that were about to be swept aside by a changing zeitgeist.

Not being a believer in sacrificing babies at bath time, I’m often intrigued by much overlooked work from that period, and being confronted by a painting like this makes me forget the official accounts altogether.  An expansive field of primary red extends across most of the large canvas, revealing fragments of underlying yellow and bordered by a narrow frame of browns, crimson and purple.  To stand before it is a gloriously immersive experience, not unlike that gained from a good Rothko, but Hoyland’s approach is less neurotic and far more extrovert.  The energetically knifed and unctuously dripping paint reveals a delight in its gestural plasticity and delivers a lesson in how to make adjacent, closely related colours vibrate.

Peter Lanyon, 'Soaring Flight', Oil On Canvas, 1960

Peter Lanyon, ‘Soaring Flight’, Oil On Canvas, 1960:  I mentioned Lanyon, (featuring this particular painting), in a post following my short break in Cornwall, earlier this year.  He’s a favourite post-war Cornish painter of mine, (and, unusually, - a native).  This is one of his best, and it was an unexpected pleasure to walk around a corner and find it waiting for me in Nottingham.  Like Hoyland, Lanyon represented a typically mid-20th Century approach to painterly abstraction, but applied it to the elemental qualities of the Cornish landscape.

Lanyon projected his experience of gliding into images that amalgamate the realms of earth, air, water and light, and locate the viewer amongst them in a dynamic manner.  There’s no such thing as a fixed viewpoint here as Lanyon’s energetic brushwork describes his glider’s zig-zag progress through the air.  Meanwhile, the moving cloud, (or shadow), diagonally veiling almost half of the canvas is both exciting and compositionally audacious.

Prunella Clough, 'Waterford Yard', Oil On Canvas, 1970

Prunella Clough:  A definite pleasure of ‘Somewhat Abstract’ is its showcasing of several paintings by Prunella Clough.  I often forget about Clough, only to find myself intrigued by her work when I encounter it in municipal collections.  One of her introverted pieces in isolation can lose out to louder voices, and they benefit from being hung in groups, as here.

Prunella Clough, 'South-West Nocturne', Oil On Canvas, 1970

Clough is a straightforward enough fit for this show, with her consistent exploration of the boundary between the identifiable world and the abstract painterly environment.  There’s something terminally ‘British’ about her tonal palette and general mutedness, but I always respond to her use of urban or industrial sources, flattening of forms and consistent emphasis on surface.

Prunella Clough, 'Perforated Fragment', Oil On Canvas, 1985

‘Waterford Yard’, Oil On Canvas, 1970:  Clearly derived from a distinct location, this painting pushes Clough's subject to the very edge of purely formal abstraction, allowing a few observed features to emerge as flattened shapes from atmospheric darkness.

Prunella Clough, 'Samples', Oil On Canvas, 1997

'Somewhat Abstract' (Prunella Clough Paintings In Situ), Nottingham Contemporary,  April 2014

‘Samples’, 1997; ‘South West-Nocturne’, 1970; ‘Perforated Fragment’, 1985; All Oil On Canvas:  Separated by 27 years but forming a pleasing trio, these push things even further into shape and mark-based abstraction, each exuding a subdued elegance, typical of Clough's oeuvre.  They instantly reminded me of the entropic architectural surfaces I was photographing just a few minutes earlier on my way to the exhibition.  ‘Samples’ and ‘South-West Nocturne’ also demonstrate how beautifully slightly heightened colour fragments can sing from more neutral overall surroundings.

Frank Auerbach, 'Primrose Hill', Oil On Board, 1959

Frank Auerbach, ‘Primrose Hill’, Oil On Board, 1959:  Another interesting strand within the overall exhibition is the inclusion of paintings by Walter Sickert, David Bomberg and Frank Auerbach.  Famously, each taught the next, passing a baton of traditional representational painting that became increasingly abstracted through the physicality of paint application, without ever sacrificing the primacy of subject.

There are three Auerbach’s in the show, (including a terrific portrait etching of Lucian Freud), but this one is my favourite.  It’s an early, largely brown example, from the days when, apparently, he couldn’t afford a wide range of colours in the quantities needed to build his massively impasted paintings.  It reinforces my feeling that Auerbach’s obsessive attempts to carve space and form through sculptural paint and sheer force of will, are far better suited to landscape subjects than the figure.  It’s all deeply obscure, but I still feel I could walk down the hill, through all that unctuous gravy, towards the distant building emerging from the  nocturnal gloom.

Francis Bacon, 'Head VI', Oil On Canvas, 1949

Francis Bacon, ‘Head VI’, Oil On Canvas, 1949:  If I’m honest, I sometimes find Bacon a bit overrated.  There’s no doubt he produced many powerful images, but there are some fairly lame, poorly constructed ones out there too.  Whether or not he eventually became self-parodic, this famous early picture is a concentrated example of his work in its power to affect, and undiluted shock value.  In translating Velasquez’s 1650 portrait of Innocent X into the image of an eyeless screaming Pontiff, Bacon created a perfect symbol of human tragedy or lost faith, and an icon of post-war Existentialism.

Bacon was pretty dismissive of abstract painting, although his work often employs passages of suspended description to interesting psychological effect.  Here, the figure is confined within a trademark artificial space frame and subsumed within an ambiguous abstracted void.  I guess Existentialism could be described as a philosophical abstraction, although it sometimes feels pretty real to me.

Tomma Abts, 'Heit', Acrylic & OIl On Canvas, 2011

Tomma Abts, ‘Heit’, Acrylic & Oil On Canvas, 2011:  When German-born Tomma Abts won the 2006 Turner Prize, some trumpeted ‘a return to painting’.  That seems typically superficial, but the award did at least validate painting as a live issue, alongside the wide range of other media available to 21st century artists.  More interesting than the promotion of one medium over any other, is the way that Abts repurposes certain tropes of abstract painting tradition to illustrate that, nowadays, everything is up for grabs.

Painted across two adjacent canvases, ‘Heit’, shares the same modest dimensions and the general appearance of geometric Constructivism or Op Art, seen in all her art.  Paradoxically, Abts constructs such works organically, without prior planning, accumulating the textural marks of corrections and alterations beneath their final surfaces.  She also introduces illusionistic shadows, (as here), creating considerable internal tension as the final painting pulls in three different  directions at once.

Keith Coventry, 'Crack City', Oil On Canvas, 1993 (2 Of 4)

Keith Coventry, ‘Crack City’, Oil On Canvas, 1993:  Like Abts, Coventry pastiches the style of high Modernism here, in a set of four, repeated reworkings of Malevich’s white-on-white Supremacist square.  His agenda is highly conceptual however, and reimagines/retitles the squares as the footprints of housing blocks in London’s notorious Woodpecker Estate.  It’s an arch comment on the legacy of Utopian Modernism’s damaged legacy that, admittedly, relies on knowledge of the estate’s dysfunctional reputation.  Like the small bronze crack pipe sculpture displayed alongside, it also alludes to the hard drug addict’s abstract disengagement from everyday experience.

Zebedee Jones, 'Blue/Green', Oil & Wax On Canvas, 1993

Zebedee Jones, ‘Blue/Green’, Oil & Wax On Canvas, 1993:  I know nothing about Jones’ work, (beyond what a quick online search reveals), so this piece called to me, purely on its own terms.  It’s clearly in the tradition of the painted monochrome, and of conceptual painting about process and the medium’s specific properties.  I’m still a sucker for this kind of self-reflexivity and, whilst it lacks the sumptuous spectacle of Jason Martin’s work in a similar field, I enjoyed its nuanced surface and somewhat sullen demeanour.  I also love the way its internal content transcends the edges of the canvas creating an energised, ragged interaction with surrounding space.

Varda Caivano, 'Untitled', Oil On Canvas, 2011

Varda Caivano, ‘Untitled’, Oil On Canvas, 2011:  This is another, rather modest, blue-green painting by an artist I don’t really know.  It could have become lost amongst the surrounding work, but something about it called me back for repeated views.  Filled with an accumulation of insubstantial shapes, it seems to share the sense of an ambiguous but navigable environment, (albeit with difficulty), that I enjoyed in the Auerbach already mentioned.  Accumulations of scrubby, translucent paint, and chinks of revealed, contrasting colour between larger shapes, introduce breathing space into what might otherwise be a claustrophobic experience.

It pleases me that ‘Somewhat Abstract’ introduced me to two interesting painters of whom I had no previous knowledge, amongst some acknowledged big names and relatively familiar images.  It’s also intriguing (and illuminating of the current cultural situation) that work which might have emerged at any point over the last hundred years, (for example, in the case of Abts and Caivano), was actually produced within the last decade.

Nottingham Contemporary, April, 2014

‘Somewhat Abstract: Selections From The Arts Council Collection’, Continues until 29 June 2014 at: Nottingham Contemporary, Weekday Cross, Nottingham NG1 2GB.