It was a sunny
Sunday, so a trip to the city seemed a pleasurable possibility.
Sydney’s harbour looks spectacular on days like this: a bright, blue
sky with a slight breeze after a period of heavy rain. Why not visit
the Art Gallery NSW to see the Archibald exhibition? So it was
agreed. As we were preparing for an early start, the news report told
of an emergency re-enactment that was going to take place in the city
that morning. It was a full dress rehearsal of the likely response to
the situation of the city being hit by a large passenger plane. This
was no time to go to the centre of Sydney. Streets would be closed;
transport services would be disrupted: the city would be chaotic. So
we postponed our journey to the afternoon by which time the reported
rehearsal was to be completed. How can such a practice session be
taken seriously when the fuselage is a line of buses and passengers
are cardboard cutouts? Can panic be rehearsed? Can pain be a
pantomime? Can shock be stimulated/simulated? Such events seem to be more like
an expensive training session for actors.
When we reached the Manly ferry terminal just before noon, it was clear that most other folk had decided to do the same as us; to go out and enjoy the splendid afternoon. Did they all wait until the crash games had been completed? Crowds milled around the open spaces shoulder-to-shoulder, coming and going, filling every void available. This was the cliché 'sea of people.' It was almost intimidating. One is quickly reminded that Sydney is a large city
There was only a
short ‘gelati’ wait for the ferry that was filled to standing
point before leaving for the city. The harbour looked wonderful,
aglow. The prospect of the harbour surroundings from the front deck
seats made one appreciate Sydney once again, an experience made all
the more beautiful by the wonderful day. By the time the ferry turned
west, bringing the bridge and opera house into view, most of the
passengers had moved forward, blocking the panorama of those who
remained seated. Mobile phones were elevated above heads to snap the
icons that still had an amazing ability to attract the attention of
the visitors. Selfie after selfie was taken as excited tourists, (one assumes
locals are more blasé
about these structures), struggled to fix their image in
juxtaposition with both the shiny shells and the steel arch, to capture the ‘I
was there’ moment for ‘ME’ to 'post' and ponder the responses later. This is the era of
the self-centred, self-important individual being impressed with the self in all of its various expressions and impressions.
Circular Quay
Circular Quay was
no less busy than Manly. Crowds weaved criss-cross, as warp and weft, with masses of
bodies amazingly managing to avoid collisions by subtly respectful mutual
adjustments. Elizabeth Farrelly would have been be pleased. Her piece
promoting her planning vision for Sydney spoke of ‘the herd-patter
of countless walking feet’ - see:
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2016/09/the-third-way-of-planning-for-sydney.html
There were plenty of walking feet here, but no patter, or any ‘solar
tram’s whoosh.’ In spite of the ‘countless’ numbers, Sydney
had not been much improved at all! One needs more than poetic words
and quaint images to improve a dysfunctional planning system. It is
too simplistic, almost diagrammatically naive, to assume walking is
better than driving; that driver-less, solar trams are superior to
motor vehicles. One could summarize this approach as being formulated
by a lazy, cliché 'futuristic' vision of hope.
Greenway church
Hyde Park
The train took us to St. James station.
It was almost a seamless connection. We strolled along the short walk
past Greenway’s church, through the hospital grounds and across
Hyde Park to the Art Gallery of New South Wales. The walk revealed a
good cross section of Sydney: the homeless at the station; the quiet
historic church; the formal, grandly glassy courts ( closed); the visitors at the
hospital; the sunbathers on the grass; the spruikers at the speaker’s
corner; the diners at the cafe; the visitors coming to and going from
the gallery: Sydney has a very diverse population with divergent
interests and lifestyles.
Art Gallery NSW
After leaving the
coats and bags at the entry, one lined up to get tickets; only then
could the Archibald exhibition space be approached. After the
usual frustrations of annoying queues and fumbling service with its time-wasting chatter, the
tickets were purchased and we were able to move off. There was a
sense of the familiar about this journey: it lacked immediate
interest and relevance beyond what it has always been. The walk down
the stairs recalled every descent over the years –
the same; but this was leading to the 2016 Archibald. It appeared
that very little had been designed for this special exhibition. It
must be a good money-spinner for the gallery that uses standard
spaces for this significant event with what appeared to be a brazen
cost-saving strategy. Very little effort seemed to have been made for
anything, neither the entry, the approach, nor the exhibition itself.
The graphics were almost non-existent, such was their meagre
blandness; their grey, poorly-located insignificance.
Where does one
start when one moves into an exhibition? Well, at the beginning like
everyone else. After realising the silliness of the possibility that one might
be engaged with this particular group of people that one had entered
with for the whole display if one goes logically, sequentially, as masses usually do, one
then adopts the path-of-least-resistance strategy where one slips across
to any painting that has no great number of people around it; and
again and again zigzagging through the spaces and the crowds. Eventually this ad hoc approach allows one to see
everything with some degree of physical comfort in personal space,
rather than becoming a pawn in the tide of humanity all doing
likewise because that is how it is done. A quick summing-up-tour can
be used to gather perceptions together, and to double-check to make
sure that nothing has been missed. So the hit-and-miss movements
began. We both went our different ways, only to occasionally see each
other throughout these chess movements, and agreed to meet at the end.
The surprise was
that there were some interesting works. Previous years had made one
depressed, with the display being made up of predictable sets of
submissions, paintings that could be categorized into a series of
similar strategies: see -
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2012/05/archies-2012.html
This 2016 Archibald did have some sets, but scattered amongst these
were some ‘disruptive’ paintings that astonished: the predictable
mould was tested. One common theme that was easily recognized was the
repetition of the ‘super real’ style in paintings that record
every wrinkle, freckle and hair with the nuance of an enlarged
photograph. One wonders: why not take a photograph and avoid the
effort of attempting to paint one? The skill could be admired, and
the work could be examined in intimate detail with the stunned amazement
of the disbelieving eye, but the question still nagged: what did this
painting of a photographic image bring to the outcome? Was one to
merely be stunned by the technique? Indeed, one wondered if the
painting used a photograph to ‘see’ the face in this particular
manner. The eye does not really see things in this fuzzed, precise,
optical way; it brings more than this exact observation to its
seeing. Indeed, the act of inspection seemed likely to intrude too much into personal space.
Caricatures?
As one moved
around, other themes became obvious, but these were interesting
rather than seen as powerfully onerous clichés
– again. There were the traditional portraits, images that we
expect when one walks through an art gallery that labels the subjects
of the various approaches; and there were the brashly bold pieces
that applied paint liberally in order to express character, that of
the sitter and/or of the artist, with the spreading swipe of the
palette knife. Some works held a presence, while others remained
lumps and layers of paint hopefully looking for the onlooker’s eyes
to make some sense of things out of this value-and-style-free approach: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2017/01/herzog-de-meuron-architecture-with-no.html This approach appeared to use the
intimidation of art displayed in a gallery context to challenge
visitors to declare these works as a concern: dare one do this? When
viewing such pieces, the art gallery visitor is reluctant to label
the work as a meaningless mess, just because it has been selected to
be hung in this context. The premise is that the work must have
something going for it because it has been selected to be here: if only! The sad
outcome is that the viewer is made to feel inferior, inadequate. This circumstance is usually embroidered with discouraging jargon - see JARGON in the sidebar.
The tiny painting
The interest was
in the experimental works. One painting used veneer inlays to define
the broad massing and detailed parts before the application of
colour. This was a lovely surprise that intrigued the eye as it
studied the illustrated eyes and their making. Another portrait was a montage of
beautifully detailed painted animals that were collected and
assembled to make the head and shoulders of what at first appeared to
be a ‘green man’ image. There were a few collages that made one
look, and look again at the technique and the unique expression that
the method offered. There were the gigantic images that expressed the
portrait as the whole body, larger than life. These pieces displayed
a mastery of managed paint as well as a self-assured skill with scale, but in an
odd way they intimidated with their size and identity. One stood and
stared at the crutch, and then raised the head as if in an apology,
to greet the face. It appeared an inappropriate strategy to use for a
politician, a profession that is self-assured and pushy enough
without having this quality emphasized in their image.
Note 'artful' placing of explanatory notes - guess which one is referring to what!
Then there were
the few special experimental pieces that explored individuality in a
different way. One took identity literally and reproduced papers and
passports along with the experience of cultural change and plastic
surgery; another appeared more a cartoon style that made one think of
Dobell’s portrait of Joshua Smith and the argument that this
generated: portrayal or caricature? The judges avoided this potential
problem by not selecting the work for any award! These works forced one to ask about the idea of a portrait
and made 2016 Archibald intriguing, different: edgy. There was skill
and experiment here, commitment that proclaimed a presence and a
future rather than any cliché reaction.
Dare one run? Why do galleries demand compliant respect?
The few
miniatures astonished. Here one saw the variation, the contrast between the quick
expression with easy subtle colour and careful, broad viewing, and
the intricate detail of fine, laboured effort and precise seeing.
These tiny pieces made one look closely, almost in disbelief. It was
a similar but different emotion to that expressed in the response to
the photographic identity. Here one could not comprehend how so much
could come from so little. The admiration in the amazement turned to
concern as one wondered why one of these works was not declared the
winner. These works not only had a subtle painterly skill, but they
held their astonishing strength in spite of their tiny place on the wall. The
detail of the Whiteley portrait (Wendy Whitely by Natasha Bieniek) was as intricate as that of the ‘green
man,’ but the judges appeared unmoved with both. There were no
commendations. Did the judges fear there was a risk in choosing any
of these stunning paintings? One felt that some works might have
fared better in the Sulman.
The authority of the gallery display - the untouchables.
When the winner
was seen, one was disappointed: George of Masterchef fame was not the
best painting on the wall: then it was noticed that it was the
hangers’ choice. Finally the winner was noticed: Barry Humphries in
stage light. This painting displayed more style and greater skill
than the packing room prize; but one sensed that the judges must have
thought that the Archibald had to be a classic ‘portrait’ – a formal head; readily recognisable; and of a reasonable size
appropriate to the monetary value and the prestige on offer. It
seemed that one could not have the public commenting that so much was
given for so little! Humphries won: it is a beautiful face, precisely
characterized under the detailing of sharp stage lighting. It even
had an alluring touch of glitter; was it one or was it two pieces
that I could see occasionally catching the eye in the flash of
reflected display lighting? It was a very nice touch: but one did
wonder about the more quirky but astonishingly detailed ‘green man’
and the intricate brilliance of the tiny but completely articulate
Whitely. Why did the judges not recognise these works as ‘winners’?
Stacks of dogs
Piles of chooks
But this was not
just the Archibald Prize exhibition: some selected Sulman and Wynne Prize
submissions were on display too. As one moved through the bland,
white spaces, it was not the signage that told of the change in
zones, but the subjects. One stood puzzled for a while wondering how
this image could be a portrait, (one never pre-judges in a gallery), when it suddenly became obvious that this
was the beginning of the Sulman exhibit. A similar, but not as surprising a transition, led one into the Wynne display area. This really was a cheap display spread out in standard white
rooms with the minimum expenditure possible. Colour would have
helped, but even this, and bold graphics, were skimped on. The
graphics were there, in grey letters mounted high, for no one to see.
Sulman winner
The Sulman was a
concern, offering what appeared to be a bit of everything. Just what
are the parameters for this prize? Where do these works stand in
Australian art, and its future? It looked as though the pieces could
be anything but a portrait or a landscape; and it was: an ad hoc
assemblage of things that didn’t fit comfortably anywhere else - a bit here, a bit there: chooks, dogs, witches, houses, signs, silos, etc. in
a random variety of styles and techniques. There was a sense of experiment about the
whole exhibition; a silent maybe, ‘have-a-go’ feel to the works.
How on earth did the judges decide that the winner was the stylised
buildings, the architectural montage? The painting of the silos was
impressive, but the judges thought otherwise. Playing too safe yet
again?
Wynne winner
The Wynne was an
equal worry. Landscape art seems to fall into the obvious slots: the
fuzzy realism, the ‘modern’ abstract approach, the object/thing, the
diagrammatic form, and the impressionist visions. The judges played safe
and chose an aboriginal painting that apparently represented
landscape: who knows but the specific tribe? It was a beautiful
painting, but was it just too much of a cliché – a safe cringe
that allowed the judges to avoid any other commitment? This painting
held more power than any other, so why worry? One might have liked to
have seen some new beginning in Australian landscape painting, but it
was not to be. Just what is the future of landscape painting in
Australia? It seems to have lost its way. There was not the promise
here that the Archibald revealed.
Landscape
After the return
stroll around all of the works on display to revise and review, one filed out into
the dim, shady void of the gallery through the ‘Sulman’ area.
Here was a place to allow visitors to record their particular, personal preference. It
was an uninspiring area that confirmed the lack of effort made for
this exhibition. Is the gallery really so cash-strapped, or does it
just not care?
Almost a no man's land maze
On leaving this
drab area, we moved out and up past an Islamic calligraphy exhibit,
so we entered, to discover a marvellous world of rigour, beauty and
meaning: Korans, scrolls, calligraphy on pots, buildings, etc. It was
a wondrous world of integrated meaning in text, form and function.
The words of Martin Lings echoed in the silence: “One cannot marvel
enough” – such was the astonishment in the viewing of these
works. It made the Archibald/Sulman/Wynne exhibition too proud about
its weakness; too shallow with its thinking; too self-interested in
its self-conscious efforts; just too much meaningless self-expression
and self-importance.
One was tired
after these gallery visits but had to quickly peruse the set of one
hundred Japanese prints on display nearby: the floating world. It was
an unfair time to see these. One would have to come again, refreshed,
to enjoy these works that appeared laboured: or was one labouring
under the overload of exhibitions?
Note number reference to identify the paintings - why so high?
Moving on was
prompted by the intrusive announcement that the gallery would soon be closing,
a sounding that was both overly formal and rudely threatening. We
strolled out through the shop. It is always interesting to see the
books on the shelves. The knick-knacks can be overlooked as kitsch, but
the books usually displayed a unique variety within their specialities.
One of the first publications seen was the small book of all the
Archibald finalists, simply titled 2016. The cover displayed a
portion of the Bieniek Whiteley miniature, much enlarged. At least it was given some recognition. Inside one could
see the giant images made small, and every other variation of size to
suit the selected format. Such is the trick, the illusion of the
printed painting. One was immediately made aware of the importance of
seeing originals: reproductions make everything equally glossy and
equally removed from the reality of the made item – its presence as
colour, texture and size: its particular light. What do we lose with anything
printed? What has the computer printer done to our ordinary
experience, even of handwriting, let alone all other images: text?
Yet we know most things today through the reproduced image. One has
to be concerned with this disfigurement that enlightens wrongly and unevenly.
On leaving the
building, one reflected on the 2016 Archibald. Unlike the Sulman and
Wynne, it was a cause for hope. There was rigour, skill, interest in
experiment in these portraits: something of substance. It was a new
Archibald feeling that gave one confidence that our era has talent
and skills beyond the cliché ordinary. The Sulman and Wynne left one
feeling that there was also a void in the art world too, where lost
souls stagger around searching with just too much self-conscious effort: but one has to acknowledge, John Betjeman-like, the
effort that had been made.#
It was only the
gallery itself that failed to live up to the new, and to make an
effort. One was asked to stroll out and in of ghost-white spaces
melding into a maze of undifferentiated zones that delineated nothing
of the changes from Wynne landscapes to Sulman works to Archibald
portraits. One had to stumble through, discover differences and
question the relevance before one could realise the category, and perhaps
notice grey graphics declaring something one was supposed to assume was
meaningful - like some of the texts telling of the works on
the walls. Here ‘arty’ setouts had little relevance to
references, leaving one baffled unless, in the Archibald, one could
recognise the face or the painter’s technique: likewise elsewhere.
It was a poor effort – lazy, careless; cheap; apart from the cost
of entry! There seemed to be more interest in the diagram of the
arrangement than the relevance of the information.
Colour on the
walls and good graphics would have made an enormous difference, as
would have even a subtle delineation of the various exhibition areas.
Guessing is not good enough; and cliché white does not always make
for a good display space. The gallery needs to do much better. The
problem of good display arose for the calligraphy and the 100 moon
prints too. It appears to be a repeated concern, a matter that
galleries make no commitment to: see -
http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2011/07/on-exhibitionism-art-of-display.html
The grand vista highlights a distant painting - why this one?
We retraced our
steps: out down the grand stairs; over the road; past the cafe and
the spruikers, who were still engaging the crowds with their raw and raucous enthusiasm; across the park, now more shaded; through the hospital
(sorry, the wrong way); over the road to the courts and the
beautifully modest church; into the station. The homeless were
asleep. Bits of pizza lay on the ground beside spilled milk, spread blankets and
sprawled limbs. Once we had sorted out the maze of the tiled
station passageways and finally discovered the correct platform,
(poor graphics again!), we were able to get the train back to
Circular Quay. Here the ferry arrived on schedule. The staff spent a lot of
time cleaning it out, and then we were off, fully loaded. The
crowds must be going home at the end of the day out. This time we had
rear seats. The sunset's yellows and reds were astonishing. Back at Manly, the crowds
filtered out into the suburban maze, we found the car and we were soon home. It was a busy
but enjoyable afternoon: more plus than minus; more hope than
despair, although disappointments were never far away.
That was the
Archibald/Sulman/Wynne for 2016.
MORE GALLERY SNAPSHOTS
A mall space
The high sign identifying the Wynne zone
Sorry, all seats are taken.
Where can I sit?
Is this the Sulman?
The tiny Whiteley portrait in the midst of others
Little paintings
Landscapes
Considering the winner
The entry into the Sulman zone
A tall sign writer?
The high sign identifying the Sulman zone
Variations in the Sulman
P.S.
All gallery photographs in this blog are casual snapshots of the paintings on display in the Art Gallery NSW.
For the lists of
winners and finalists for the three prizes for 2016, see:
Archibald
Prize https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/prizes/archibald/2016/
The very tiny paintings - too small to win?
The montage self-portrait
#
John Betjeman once commented on the performance that had put his poems to song and dance that he admired the effort, but thought that it added little to the poetry.