Hello Again.
Over the Christmas holiday I found myself in Deal as my daughter had invited my wife and I to spend Christmas with them. She lives five minutes from the sea and the bracing sea air was very welcome as was the magical light associated with the area.
Turner one said that The skies over Thanet are the loveliest in all Europe.
One must remember that JMW visited Venice and its special light so this is some recommendation. I have visited Venice and do not dispute this.
Indeed we all had Christmas Lunch on the beach in Deal which was magical as the light was pure white. However, whilst I was in Deal I decided to visit Margate to look at the nominated Turner Prize artists at the Contemporary. I knew that I would be disappointed and with the exception of one of the exhibits, I was not proved wrong.
When I was a little younger a lot of my time was taken up in the name of modem art and I would go to jail rather than dismiss Carl Andre’s bricks and would become resident in Tracy’s unmade bed until she kicked me out.
Art like the universe does not possess boundaries that is quite simple.
But my overriding feeling was that the artists were ripping off the punters and existed within their own selfish boundaries. I gave all four of the artists time, but felt that they had been selected with a certain degree of correctness in mind and wondered if JMW had submitted one of his own works would it have been considered, (I think not).
The exhibition of Tai Shani’s work was stunning to look at because of its colour and the texture of the exhibits.
I am sure that JMW would have liked it as its use of vivid and pale pinks was eye watering and I spend quite a bit of time just sitting in the hall floating, as I do when looking at Rothko’s in the Tate.
But the artist then spoilt it all by noting the work was about feminine subjectivity and the experience beyond traditional gender constructs or some allied nonsense. There was also a seven hour narrative that accompanied the sculpture (praise Marx and pass the headphones). The sculpture itself was quite beautiful and the artist should have left it in its mystery instead of running off into La La Land and beyond.
However, a few days before, I was lucky enough to purchase an equally beautiful watercolour from the Arcade. It was much damaged (damp) and was unframed, but the work was exquisite. The subject matter was quite simple and showed two women (sisters/friends) in an idealized garden. Looking at the costumes, it appears to recreate a scene that Gainsborough would have been familiar with. Yet according to the artists signature (Mannering/Mainwaring) it had been painted in 1850.
I immediately looked up the artist but found no reference on the internet or elsewhere and I therefore drew the conclusion that the obscure artist was just a very gifted amateur.
During Victorian times one quite often found this type of person who lived and died in obscurity, but in my view, were the equal of many celebrated poets and artists. Quite often these were women who after marriage found that (depending on their social circumstances) found that they had a great deal of time on their hands so they followed these and other artistic pursuits.
The artist who created my little watercolour was very talented and the dexterity of their work is superb. One can almost feel the texture of the clothing from the plush velvets to the rapid silks. The trees and plants have been carefully created and although secondary to the figures just add to the theatre of the work.
As I have noted, the painting has suffered from the damp (I cannot change that easily) but there is enough to preserve and I have plans to frame it so it is good for the next one hundred and seventy years. That is my small contribution and I would like to think that the artist is looking down with the trace of a smile on their lips.
In another one hundred and seventy years, who will remember the four artists who in the finish democratically shared the Turner Prize?
I adore art, but God gave me a talent with my pen and not a brush so in a small way, I try to teach people to see (my children, my grandchildren or anybody else who has time and interest to listen to my thoughts).
In a way as with a poem, I like people to feel what they are looking at and believe it or not, I often close my eyes whilst sitting in galleries (especially with some of the Abstract Expressionists) and view and feel what I have just seen. Odd behavior maybe but it does work.
Do not take my word for it and try it for a short while.
The Tai Shani sculptures worked for me, but her pseudo feminist nonsense did not and sadly, that is the case with a number of artists these days. They find an ice cream cone and call it art (it may be, who am I to say) and tack on some ridiculous narrative noting that it is the decline of our modern consumer society (sorry, that is the best that I can do).
There are a large number of good artists out there, but there are a large number of poor artists out there also.
The trouble is that in space nobody can hear you scream as space is infinite.
If Fred Bloggs and his ice cream cone is appreciated as modern art by the event snobs and Guardian readers of today, then who am I to argue as everybody is entitled to their opinion. But deep down I think it is a case of the Emperors New Clothes, nothing more.
Who knows you might find a copy of the story by Hans Christian Andersen in the Arcade as his books do pass through and if you look hard enough, you will find really lovely watercolours under its roof and these are normally for sale at quite reasonable prices. I do not collect them (no room), but felt that I need to rescue my work as I thought it was very near to its final journey.
Even though I appreciate modern art (long live Banksy), I am a conservative at heart and am astounded by the sheer skill of some of the artists I have seen.
Turner is my God as like Gerard Manley Hopkins, he was a genius in his immediate field. I have taken my eldest granddaughter to see some of his works and I never tire in explaining his descent into abstraction (she listens for a while but then asks where the café is).
The light we have here in Hungerford is great and our immediate geography plays a great number of subtle games on us, if we only bother to look up. What JMW would have made of it is open to question, but I think that he would have enjoyed it.
If this rather personal (and maybe tiresome) article has inspired you to visit our small town, then please come. Who knows, you might find the painting you desire in the Arcade or elsewhere in the town (I hope you do), but do take the time to look up and visit the West Berkshire skies.
I promise you that you will not be disappointed.
If Margate calls then do please visit the Turner Contemporary and you will not be disappointed, as for every ice cream cornet exhibition there is another which you will enjoy.
The beach either at dawn or in the latter hours of the day is magical and believe it or not, Margate is improving its image. In the 1980/90s it was something like Gotham City on Sea, but now it has turned very arty in parts and has a number of antique shops and the like.
When I was in the town in December, there were a few watercolours for sale which on the whole were a tad more expensive than you would expect to pay at the Arcade, but hey ho if you like it, what is money?
By the time of my visit, I had protected my small work and felt pleased that I had preserved a small piece of our past. Mind you, if I had found one of Tracy’s drawings tucked away (this would not happen), then I would purchase it and probably hang it near my Victorian watercolour.
Men can be such fickle creatures.
Happy Hunting
Stuart Miller-Osborne
