The Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art is split into two buildings; Modern Two is where the big touring and temporary exhibitions are held, it was closed when we visited as they transition from Ray Harryhausen to Barbara Hepworth. The gallery's permanent collection is housed in Modern One, it was open and, as always, free (Modern Two has an admission fee).
Full disclosure, I live in the past and my interest in modern art is definitely less refined than my appreciation of the old.
Having said that, I did not expect to find Chagall and Dali here. I know they are not exactly old masters but Marc Chagall was born in 1887 and I love his paintings so in my head at least, he is not "modern".
Modern art is confusing, diffuse, brash, political, inaccessible...right? Ahem, not necessarily.
Of course modern art is what all art is; an expression by one person, interpreted by countless individuals. We can agree or disagree but ultimately it is about taste, not good and bad, just our own taste. And engagement leads to an emotional response and a shift in our view of the world; my main focus for these sessions.
Salvador Dali has his critics and perhaps I, in my admittedly plebeian awareness, can enjoy his brand of surrealism precisely because of my middlebrow taste where modern art is concerned. But who can fail to smile at his lobster telephone? It is a working phone; can you imagine how uncomfortable it would be to use? Or how smelly the original was as he used a real lobster!?!
Anyway, having explained my ignorance and general aversion to modern art, shockingly, I really enjoyed myself at the Scottish Gallery of Modern Art.
Five minute exercise
Today the exercise was to engage with the art and write a few sentences focusing on showing and not telling what was happening. It can be easy to fall into simply relating what you see, hear or experience but it is more subtle, more creative and more interesting for the reader if you render it instead.
What does that mean in practise? Essentially it means you describe what events felt like to experience rather than simply what they were. I could say it was cold, but if I say she shivered against the wind and wished she could afford a proper coat, that not only implies the weather but also exposes the character's situation.
When I give the "right, you've got five minutes" signal everyone has a little panic in their eyes, myself included. Five minutes is not long to find something that engages you, engage with it (!) and write something, then return to base. So although I was initially drawn to the massive head at the end of a corridor, quickly my attention was drawn to the sweet chant singing coming from the dark room adjacent. This was Saraband.
Two figures, clothed in white, face each other in an old town close. They make harmonious noises, in a call and response style.
The lady, with a high ruff about her head calls "how", echoing through the close. Almost like a Gregorian chant, that is matched and offset by her male companion, swaying and responding to her entreaties.
Did you spot it? The glaringly obvious?? Yep, this scene is 100% related and not rendered at all! Yes, I failed to show what I saw and heard and simply told instead. Hey, we are all human and it was a good exercise to grasp the challenges of this theme. It is annoying though because it was a great experiential piece of art.
Main task
To find an object, artwork, sculpture or space that engages you and then write about a person (yourself, a character or observed person) interacting with the object with a focus on showing their engagement rather than telling the reader just what is going on. As always it can be anything, an essay, a poem, some prose, a song (I'd love someone to write a song!) whatever takes your fancy, the mission is simply to express yourself with an eye to rendering rather than relating.
Joan Eardley and Catterline was a powerful exhibition that felt very physical, anchored to the real, natural world of a village perched on the edge of the wild North Sea.
The visceral nature of these paintings was tangible and immediately I had an emotional response to them.
Seascape (Foam and Blue Sky) 1962
"Argh," she grimaced and threw her coat over the easel. The wind had turned around and now the rain was beating against the hardboard. A solitary droplet of water poked its nose out from under her mac, pulling two different grey lumps of paint with it.
Joan picked up her knife and scraped the clump away. She held up her coat and smeared the oil paint back into the body of the surf.
The wind turned again and the whole board toppled towards her. She held it back with her forearm, feeling the squidgy of paint on the lining of her coat.
She screwed her eyes tight and took a breath. The air was salty, almost brand new, like it had never reached land before and been birthed at sea. This wild foray onto the coast had a impetuous juvenile feel to it. And if the air was a teenager, it was in a strop.
Joan smiled to herself. Another trickle of water appeared under her coat and she watched it leave a blue trail as it dripped off the bottom of the board.
The wind dropped, though the rain continued and she removed her coat from the painting. Her lining had not fared well but the artwork looked alright; her forearm depression had melded brown and blue pigment into a greyish cloud.
She put her back coat on, stains and all, and started to paint again. The oil paint was stronger than the rain; the more she piled on the less confident the rain became.
Scraping and layering, brushing and smudging, she moulded the scene until it projected from the hardboard.
Joan stood back; one nil to the grown up.
Thoughts
This corner of the Scottish Gallery of Modern Art really struck a chord with me. The raw, raging seas Joan Eardley painted communicate a wealth of emotion as well as observation. Her seascapes really have an urgency, painted in situ with grit and grass, salt and sand mixed in with the paint.
The impression I got was of someone running out of time, throwing paint on the board to get the effect she wanted before the light changed, the seas shifted or the gale threatened to upturn her set-up.
It wasn't until later that I discovered this urgency could be construed as prescience; she died a year after painted Seascape (Foam and Blue). She was 42.
Side note
Just 40 years after the first female artists blazed a trail at the Glasgow School of Art (see 25th January NMS post), Joan Eardley joined as a day student. Given opportunities and support she realised her potential, even if her life and career were curtailed. We all owe something to our forebears.
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