Francis Bacon's Studio, The Hugh Lane, Dublin
The article in The
Australian Magazine told of the plans for the Margaret Olley studio to be
relocated from her Federation home in Sydney to the art gallery near her
birthplace in northern New South Wales, the Tweed River Art Gallery. She had
left money in her will for this move to be funded. Just why the room could not
remain insitu was not explained. It seemed odd that the movement of a place so
cluttered could even be contemplated. What rationale, what strategy, is
required for the precise relocation of the chaotic and ad hoc? Can something
random be rationalized without changing its casual, 'everyday,' status - its
inherent nonchalance? - see http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/tweed-art-gallery-not-too-twee.html
Margaret Olley's Sydney studio
Then there is the issue of light and
vistas. Margaret Olley had often spoken of her much-loved workplace, pointing
out the subtle variations in the natural lighting of her studio with the time
of day. She had also told of the importance of her garden for the room, and of
the significance of the views into it. She had frequently shown these glimpses
in her paintings of her studio that explored the wonderful complexity of detail
that surrounded her - literally. There is a photograph of her in her studio,
sitting in a ceiling-high sea of chaos. Was the proposal to move all of this
serious?
This was the
artist's 'mess' that was going to be relocated. But how could the natural
Sydney light and the temperate garden be transposed? There seemed to be a
problem with this idea that wanted to move thousands of items some nine hundred
kilometres north and replace them in their identical shambles of a
relationship, in a precise space, place and pre-determined, 'identical'
organisation, all with a character and presence that tries to match that of the
original muddle. Is there an issue with provenance here? Can the integrity of a
studio be taken holus-bolus and put elsewhere for public display without it
becoming something else - perhaps another remote 'art' object itself; or worse,
a copy or reproduction of the original? Does a studio hold real sense only for
things silently and secretly intimate and personal? Does a studio have any
relationship with output? Is staring into an artist's workplace like looking at
the artist in underclothes, or in the shower? Is this just a voyeuristic occasion?
The report noted
that architect Bud Brannigan had travelled to Dublin to confer with the curator
of the Dublin City Gallery, The Hugh Lane. This gallery had Francis Bacon's
studio on display. It was said to have many more items in it than the Margaret
Olley studio that, ironically, was being itemised by her friend and Brisbane
gallery owner, Philip Bacon - (no relationship). What is the world coming to
when studios are compared in such a quantitative manner? One wonders why the
different areas and other dimensions were not mentioned! It is this attitude,
approach, and the curatorial rigour required, that seems to intrude into and
distort the very best intentions in the concept of relocation that appears to
want to preserve something meaningful of the artist - the aura of the source
and sorcery of the mysticism of creativity as real place and factual daily
detail. Still, the idea intrigued. Dublin had to be visited in order to see the
results of the Bacon move. Just what should one expect? What might the experience
be?
After settling in,
we decided to explore the city. We stepped out into Talbot Street and headed
for O'Connor Street - the spire. What was the aspiration, the inspiration, for
this cliché landmark? What significance for place did this mighty gesture hold?
It seemed strange, but the eye kept returning to it to gauge its reality. It
was high; it was fine - so fine; so high; really fine; really high! It was
quite wonderful in a strange way that made it feel something unbelievably alien
but exciting, like finding a needle in a haystack.
Haystack seemed a
good analogy for Dublin at this time of day. Late Sunday and it was still just
a messy crowded chaos of people walking willy-nilly while shopping in stores
that are everywhere else too. This was not the Dublin we envisaged. So we
strolled to the Liffey hoping for a revelation - those bridges, layer after
perspective layer reaching over a twisting gleam fringed with classical
Georgian buildings. We were greeted with the mud, stains and trash that are
revealed by low tides, and crowds moving over one pretty structure somewhat
mindlessly like soldier ants. Why could I not see the other bridges? Where were
the grand buildings. Those before us were the typical flat facades of a bland
city - warehouses. The only enjoyable characteristics were their colours and
their reflections in the muddy wash that seemed to wallow in this game with the
ordinary, creating wonderful ‘impressionistic’ images.
We decided to
retreat to the pub. An Irish pub in Ireland! This should be astonishing. Sadly
it seems that the fake venues have manipulated the clichés so much that the
real thing becomes a disappointment. There was no music or song, just the noise
from the television set that was showing the match of the day live. It was the
centre of attention. Even the barman had to be prompted to serve us. But there
was Guinness. Ah! Real Guinness at last! Made with Dublin water. Gosh, there
was not even that wonderful difference that folk dream of, even eulogise - but
it was still good, and helped to ease the fatigued body and to encourage the
forgetting of the frustrating thoughts about this disappointing dump, Dublin.
Was it all due to our tortured time zones? Another pint, a meal and bed ended
the day.
Turning left took
us along O'Connor Street to the Halfpenny Bridge and onto a grand boundary
fence that could only be that of Trinity College. Following this bold edge led
us to the iconic central meeting place of Dublin - the main entrance of Trinity
College off College Green - a space framed by the massive Bank of Ireland. Was
a building of this astonishing scale really built as a bank? It was only later
in the day that it was discovered that this was the first parliament house. Entering
Trinity through a modest, central doorway in an old timber screen, took us over
hexagonal timber setts and along a short vaulted passage into academic
courtyards - KEEP OFF THE GRASS: NO BICYCLES. The axial alignments took the eye
to the left and right and into the distance under a central Gothic revival
tower. Trinity library was to the right.
Trinity fence
Entry to Trinity College from College Green
Bank of Ireland Centre, College Green, Dublin
Trinity College, Dublin
The entry was
through the shop, a cheeky move that is usually left for the exit. This
commercialism predicted the exuberant display about various significant books -
their histories, details, stories and making. Only after passing through this
informative maze was the real book revealed - the real Kells completely sealed
in a Chubb display case, safe, secure and distant. No page turning here! The
gallery 'guard' was dozing in the corner. He had nothing to do when there was
this quality of enclosure. He didn't even seem to worry about enforcing the NO
PHOTOGRAPHY signage as the American clicked away undisturbed.
One can only be
amazed enough for a limited time before it becomes a self conscious
re-enactment, so we exited up the newer concrete steps to the old library
above. What a bonus. A double-height vault with walls of book spines on each
side, all accessed by old, flimsy, wooden ladders. It was the classic vision of
book storage, complete with lines of marble busts marking each stack with an
icon of learning. This array was all behind the maroon rope barriers that
directed one down stairs and back to the shop. A double whammy!
Saint Stephen's Green
Days in Dublin
only became more relaxing and enriching. Saint Stephen's Green became the place
for retreat after walking kilometers, discovering the classic buildings, the
doors, the Pugin church, (not even indicated on the map!), the canal, the other
bridges, and more. It was only on the last day that there was time to seek out
the Bacon studio. This had not been researched in any detail, so the city was
explored, gauging direction by nose alone - always an interesting process of
discovery. Go north and east, I think.
The Hugh Lane, Dublin
Discovering the
destination without any detours is always very satisfying. The light was fading
as the day closed and the students relaxed after their excursion. The Hugh Lane
Gallery stairs were layered with frollicking uniforms framing the entry like
Laocoon groupings. It must have been the end of a school excursion. The information desk advised that there was no charge and
happily passed over a map of the gallery that showed the location of the Bacon
studio. After moving in through the main doors, the gallery revealed itself as
a bright, white set of modest spaces strung together with an axial arrangement
of doors that pierced the core of each with a set of beautifully and richly
detailed timber architraves, repeated identically one after the other into the
distance, on and on until they terminated at a glass sliding door - the Bacon
area.
This point was
again made when Bragg asked Bacon more about why he used the reverse side -
Bragg called it "the wrong side" - of the canvas. Bacon said that he
had discovered quite by accident that the reverse side of the canvas was
coarser than the front and took the paint more aggressively quickly. It did not
allow for any retouching. When Bragg asked what Bacon did to canvases that he
was unhappy with, Bacon said to a disbelieving Bragg that he destroyed them.
"Destroy them?" "Yes, I cut them up."
On entering the
studio, Bragg was surprised, as the walls were all daubed in paint. "I
test out my colours on the walls," explained Bacon. And so the interview
went on. When asked about his creative process, Bacon fumbled for words and
then admitted that he had thought about this before the interview, and asked if
it would be all right for him to read from the notes he had scribbled on a
piece of paper in his pocket. Bragg agreed, and a self-conscious Bacon read his
own words, putting some doubt on his claims that he prefers the risk of
immediacy – the challenge of the moment.
After watching the
endless loop of video to where I had started, I wandered around looking for the
studio. There was a display in a couple of glass benches that held some
Baconalia: books of the era; early photographs; some images of his early
sources; and the like. Still, no studio. Then a recess in a wall was noticed.
It was the size for one person and it was occupied. What was this? A toilet; a
confessional? When vacated, I positioned myself in this nook and found myself
framed in glass in the open door of the studio looking at all the mess and
mangle of a mysteriously silent but real still life. It seemed that Bacon
painted with Dulux Matt Vinyl paint. The brushes were so numerous that one
sensed that he might use them just once before they hardened into their final
form seen here as more than several sets sprawling everywhere.
What was one to
make of this? One had been told that the room linings and the contents were all
original, just as Bacon had left them. So what? One was left stranded on a
point. One could not even see behind the door on the right. It was an odd
feeling of exclusion - KEEP OUT; LOOK ONLY, a little like the Trinity grass.
How long was one to stay? What was one to look at, out of so much of a mess?
The situation did little more than emphasise one's isolation in the world where
one was an outsider - the observer only.
Stepping out and
around to look for other vantage points took one the full circle without any
revelation, so off again. Two peep holes were discovered, one directed to a few
brushes, the other to a swatch of paint smudged on the wall. So what was one to
do with these chosen details? Further around, two windows at the exterior
gallery floor level were discovered. These allowed one to look down into the
studio as a stalker might purve on his subject. It was an awkward situation,
more alienating than the vertical glass coffin in the doorway. One felt exposed
here, extremely self-conscious.
So that was it -
Bacon's studio. Was the effort worth it? The effort to get there was because it
opened up more of Dublin as well as the gallery, but the task of shipping this
space and its components and reassembling them - was this effort worth it? Many
questions arise on this issue. The studio has newspapers scattered around the
floor and piles of books tumbling down onto paint tins and brushes. A couple of
canvases lean against a paint-smudged wall. Two easels stand as icons in the
clutter. Does one see this as a composition, for it must have been so perceived
for the place and its pieces to be repositioned? Does this awareness change
even simple pieces of paper that have been strewn about in an unselfconscious
manner? This is the core question. Can anything scattered so unself-consciously
that has been relocated self-consciously remain the same?
It seems to me,
no. So what is this studio other than a display recreated for visitors -
tourists - to look at: an attraction? Is there any more meaning in this piece
of theatre than this: the making of a place to entice inquisitive numbers of
people seeking an 'interesting' emotional, even a pseudo-educational,
diversion? - see http://springbrooklocale.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/who-or-what-is-tourist.html
Provenance is held
only in each small part that has been stripped away from its context and
repositioned into its newly planned and documented location. One can imagine
the process: do you think that this rag should be crumpled differently? Does
this book need to be at a different angle? Should we move the brushes a little
to the left? . . . etc. How one might cope with the continuing aging of the
pieces is another issue. Here the conservation conversation might be: Should we
replace the rusting, leaking tin of paint with something that might have been
as Francis had left it? . . . etc.
If there is any
concern with this analysis, then one needs to ask how a copy of an original
differs from the original. Just what is the difference between the original
Picasso and the perfect copy? The answer is none if one considers the studio
relevant, because the first was a response to Bacon's activities; the second, a
reconstructed copy 'after Bacon.' The difference between the original studio
insitu and the relocated one is immense, both intellectually and physically -
psychically too. The Dublin Bacon studio has a rich shambles inside, but
outside is all pure white, stainless steel and Pirelli studded rubber. The
attempt to show the memorable steep stair with the rope rail access that led to
Bacon's loft studio becomes a framed view of what one presumes to be the
original stair now relocated, viewed through a glazed floor panel outside the
vertical glass coffin viewing box. This seems to sum up the problem of
relocation and new context. There is no way that the stair can be experienced
in relation to the studio as Bacon would have sensed it. It is an item behind
glass located in the slick and smart environment of the white gallery - an
exhibit. It seems that the importance of this Dublin-located studio is the
display of Baconesque relics in the same manner as cathedrals display parts of
saints. This is hagiography at its most blatant.
* * * * * * *
There is a
postscript to the visit to the Bacon studio. On leaving the gallery spaces, one
is directed through the retail shop - where else? Here I searched out a couple
of images of the Bacon studio as photography was not allowed in the gallery.
Looking at the postcards, my eye was caught by some Bacon sketches. But didn't
Bacon say that he never sketched, only painted with the brash immediacy of wet
paint on the unique challenge of wrong side of the canvas? These two postcards
showed Bacon exploring ideas and set outs as drawings. Didn't I see a tee
square in his studio? One does not use a tee square with immediacy. It seems
that Mr. Bacon has been rather loose with the truth.# Was he just concerned only
with his image - creator of the instantly meaningful brushmark? It seems so. He
was particular with the words he wanted to use to describe his approach and
chose to read them. This only adds a greater enigma to his studio. Can the mess
really be an 'honest' mess? Doubt has to be raised about this. It is too easy
to suppose that it might be. There is a certain romance in the idea that art
can arise from chaos: mystery from mess made by the rebel nonconformist who
holds the power of vision that sees things differently. One has only to look at
Margaret Olley's paintings and her carefully assembled subjects to discover how
self-conscious her collected still life collage - her studio 'mess' - really
is. The slightly disturbing matter is that Miss Olley kept her subjects exactly
as she had depicted them for years after they had been painted. Is this phobia
the driving force behind keeping her studio as a relic? Has the Bacon studio a
similar problem, perhaps rooted in someone else's phobia?
A further problem
with such quirky promotional displays of iconic artists' workplaces is that
messiness becomes equated with desirable artistic outcome, encouraging the
charlatan to create a mess and act differently to give the impression of what
is hoped will only be seen as an artistic genius. It seems that the only good
that will come out of such exhibits is an increase in visitor numbers. The end
result is the perpetuation of the idea of art as exhibitionism. In this regard,
Coomaraswamy's question: 'Why exhibit works of art?' needs to be seriously
considered.
* * * * * * *
Thoughts linger on
this issue. It is very complex. Consider Bacon's little room located in a
dimming Dublin. As it was approached from the street, it was the artificial
lighting that highlighted the art gallery, made it a beacon that welcomed its
discovery. On entering the gallery from the cool, outer dark, the bright, white
light of the gallery spaces was truly invigorating. The movement into the Bacon
display area was matched with a drop in lighting levels - a softening of the
light. This was for the video presentation. Lighting levels dropped further as
one explored the outer zones of this space that were the fringe areas around
the studio display. Down lighting was part of this context for the studio,
bearing no relationship with the original place or location of the workroom,
just with this gallery. Peeking into the studio, one saw a space not only
frozen in time, but also fixed in light. The artificial lighting of this
interior was as false as the display itself: there was no natural variation
here, no subtle changes that told of outer events.
Now it occurs to
me that this display is nothing other than a Victorian peep show, a diorama,
but not as exciting, mysterious, or beguiling. In the same manner, it has all
of the characteristics of the old 3D photographic viewer - put in the twin
image, hold it up to the eyes and behold the Bacon studio in all of the
identical remote glory that can be seen through the looking glass of this tiny
spec of a display in Dublin city: one context is a gallery; the other the
armchair in the lounge where the imagination can be teased with visions of
tourist destinations in the comfort of one's home. Well, it might as well have
been a piece of this personal luxury, given the circumstances of the display
and the singularity of the main viewing point. It may have been better.
P.S.
In a report by in The Sydney Morning Herald of 1 June 2013, Treasures of Olley's life go under the hammer, Andrew Hornery writes about the items that will not be required for the relocated studio:
'The goods and chattels are items from the artist's home that
will not be part of the re-creation of her famed painting rooms at the Tweed
River Art Gallery.' see http://m.smh.com.au/lifestyle/private-sydney/treasures-of-olleys-life-go-under-the-hammer-20130531-2nh7m.html
So it seems that the studio is a reconstruction of a set of carefully selected items only - a new creation for tourism. The unwanted items are to be auctioned. What criteria have been used to make the selections? What part of Olley's life will be discarded? Are we to see only Bacon's vision of Olley? What 'treasures' are being denied to the public in this display?
Is it ever a good idea to relocate and display the intimacies of one's life and pretend that nothnig has changed? I recall how, even when the location had not changed, Wordsworth's and Beatrix Potter's world had been santisied. One saw 'everything' - execept the privy, and, upon further reflection, much more too. Why was the lock of hair there; the suit of clothes: to suggest something personal an complete? One saw only a curated vision: a created vision shaped by others. One can suppose that there is little wrong with this as long everyone knows it is simple theatre for tourism, nothing more. How bored must we become to endure these fantasies?
#
NOTE
29 October 2019
On Bacon’s
statement concerning the “immediacy of wet paint,” it is
interesting to read the assessment of those close to him in Jon Lys
Turner The Visitors’ Book In Francis Bacon’s Shadow: The
Lives of Richard Chopping and Denis Wirth-Miller Constable 2017,
page 38:
Bacon was an
unreliable and mythologizing source when it came to the biographical
details of his own life.
Perhaps
one can say the same about his comments on his own work too?
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