Before our December trip I think I would have probably denied having particular favourite artists myself or being any kind of fan of an individual painter, but our walk around Tate Britain, or the wing of it with all the Turners, reminded me that at one time, I think in my late teens, I developed a very soft spot indeed for the great Joseph Mallord William. That spot emerged softer than ever at the end of a wonderful couple of hours enjoying not just the paintings but a lovely room devoted to some of his drawings (with some of the original notebooks!) and the engravings made from them.
The extraordinary thing about a room full of Turners, at least in the clever way the Tate goes about displaying him, is that you are almost guaranteed at least one canvas that elicits a stupefied Waaahhh!!! as soon as your eyes touch it - or, rather, as soon as your eyes catch the blaze. Significantly in our choosing (the nieces, the missus and myself) of favourites it was telling how often all four of us plumped for the most abstract piece in each room. How did he manage to be so utterly modern and get away with it in early nineteenth century London of all places? I suppose it helped that he was so good at the photo-realism bit that his audience simply trusted him in his wilder flights.
Turner does that thing common to so many of the greatest artists in all fields: he educates his audience in the process of his development.
No comments:
Post a Comment