(Don't) Mind The Gap

It scares the hell out of me. But is understanding art really key to enjoying it?  

Whenever I go to look at an exhibition, a great sensation grabs hold of me. It's part excitement - who doesn't enjoy looking at things they could never create themselves? - but also a state of nervousness, which is rooted in the fear of feeling nothing upon seeing whatever you're intending to look at/ interact with.

The nothingness is linked to ignorance of course, which is probably what every person is most afraid of and engenders different reactions depending on environment and nurture. Broadly speaking I can deal with ignorance; I cross its path so often we're almost bosom buddies, but art unnerves me to an extent that I tend to just look at it and move on.

I 'studied' (was taught) art at school and am a reasonable artist myself (strictly drawing and generally I like cartoons but I can do still life and stuff like that) - indeed my work hangs in my hallway (a jungle scene, with a chimp wearing Air Jordans since you didn't ask) which you can visit any time. So on a primitive, purely intuitive level, I 'understand' style, which is probably why I enjoy pop art so much.

But ask me what it means and you'll get a blank look. So my trip to Tate Liverpool in February represented a chance for me to better understand my relationship with art and actually have a crack at understanding what they're on about, if you'll pardon the colloquial nature. So this might be the only blog you'll read that has no professional/academic/other insight into art whatsoever. It's just what I think.

This was one of my favourite pieces from my visit and is by an artist named Frank Stella, an abstract expressionist. Now I actually know what abstract expressionism comprises of without having to resort to Wikipedia or gallery notes so I enjoyed this picture all the more. Jackson Pollock has always been one of my favourite artists, basically because I have a visceral connection with his work - for want of a better term, it moves me. This strikes me as really personal in composition and the style is almost musical for me; with the colours suggesting something exotic and beautiful. Indeed there's a macaw in there somewhere...

This is a piece by internationally renowned British painter Francis Bacon and was one of the best things I saw all day. There's currently an excellent exhibition showing by Sylvia Sleigh on contemporary Renaissance-style art which, as you'd expect, was incredible to observe in detail and depth, but nothing interests me like this sort of work. Bacon feels like a big influence on JG Ballard and even latterly David Foster Wallace in his warped appraisals of human consciousness and at the risk of exposing my shallow intellectualism, this kind of reminds me of 1920s Picasso in the framing and angular nature of aspects of the work. Genuinely no idea what's occurring here but the somewhat bureaucratic setting and flat, soulless background, in strict conflict with the almost grisly centrepiece of flesh and distorted face in the centre point to something sinister and tortuous.


I recently got done reading Constellation of Genius (I reviewed it on this blog if you're so inclined) and as an entry point into the beginnings of what's now termed modernism it's a fantastic read. This piece is by Hans Bellmer, an artist best known for his sculpture and in particular a very famous piece known as La Poupee. Bellmer was linked with Breton's burgeoning surrealist movement in the 1930s and knowing what I do of Dali (also discussed in that book, btw) I found this an immediately identifiable and therefore enjoyable work (all surface, me). A painting that inspires several thoughts all at once is for me a successful one and this one is another piece that's on nodding terms with human existence but also seems weirdly alien and almost percussive to me somehow. Bellmer's appeal to Breton lay in his sexualisation of youth and feminine beauty (he was a cheeky boy after all was Breton) although I must say I don't feel much sex oozing from this.

Liverpool's waterfront is getting better and better; I last visited the Tate for a Picasso retrospective in 2010 and it's come along even further since then. This picture illustrates nicely the fairly radical approach the city's architects are taking towards reconstructing the old shipping yards of the Mersey. I think they provide a great companion piece to the vast expanses of flat, angled walkways on the waterfront, and it's great to see something challenging with a signature style to it - even if I can't explain what it's all about.