Confezioni Paradiso

Last night Confezioni Paradiso, a tiny but very cute textile boutique in Bologna, hosted a private view of a series of black biro illustrations by Virginia Mori.

Mori's illustrations wallow in a pool of quotidienne surrealism and are slightly unsettling (when I asked about Mori's 'thing' the very kind and elegant Ms Paradiso told me I could speak to her myself as she was outside, I must admit I did not jump at the chance) but their setting was so palatable I relaxed into the experience. Instrumental sounds crackled along the walls and got muffled in hand made 'Paradiso' textiles hanging there, wooden crates held lots of brown paper packets of nibbles to have with il vino, each sealed with a little copy of a Mori illustration and passers by were welcomed in and sat on the doorsteps, probably not chatting about Mori's impressive biro technique at all, in a very nicely understated way.

Afterwards I popped into Camera a Sud - I don't want to paint any verbal picture because it will sound kitsch, which it is not - but it often seems to be the perfect place for vino e cibo a Bologna.

Camera a Sud

Arte Fiera, Bologna

As soon as I set foot in one of those ‘exhibition centres’, typically found just outside of a city centre, I feel like passing out. Unfortunately Artefiera Art First Bologna, one of the world’s oldest art fairs, takes place in just such a sprawling space. Nonetheless, enticed in by a gifted entry to the preview, I went to have a see. Hall after hall with stand after stand of contemporary galleries flashed their wares and if it hadn’t been for the company and the glass of prosecco in my hand I most probably would have given up in time for apperitivo in Bologna’s city centre (Margarita note to follow). But one of the nominally British stands wanted an extra pair of hands to help over the weekend and so, after acclimatising to the bright lights, I was moved to revise my first impressions.

I’m pretty sure it was the privilege of time which did it (that and of course hearing about the peculiarities of how the Italians buy art). In the same way that when you go to an exhibition you only expect to see it once and so you make frantic efforts to look at things with as much force as you can muster and feel obliged to see everything put before you, so too with an art fair one feels a compulsion to look at everything on offer. No wonder you might feel jaded by the whole thing. But when you have the chance to see things as few or as many times as you like, up close or from a distance – i.e. when you have the luxury of time on your side – it is oh so much easier to mould your very own experience of it.

Stands you couldn’t bear to look at (for instance because gore in art just isn’t really your thing), you make a point of passing when you next go by for a second, third or fourth time. And those stands with pieces you lusted after but felt pretty intimidated by at the same time you can summon up the courage to revisit. And you enjoy them all the more each time you go. Continua (the gallery that is very cool-ey located in San Gimignano in Tuscany) was one of the latter stands. It had an incredible selection of amazingly cool works including a piece by Moatar Nasr made up of over 12,000 matchsticks with different coloured tips arranged into a floral pattern and yes, there was a Kapoor too.  John Martin Gallery had another piece which really grew on me, Neale Howells’ Mama with a Gun (2011), so much interest in it too (see current exhibitions at John Martin Gallery in London and Edward Cutler Gallery in Milan).

Of course pieces with the loved and hated ‘novelty’ and ‘shock’ factors often associated with contemporary fairs also peppered the halls. I grew very fond of one of these: a pair of clay busts with videos of the moving features of said clay heads projected onto them many times over from the vantage point of two other clay pieces. It was so clever, so fun and all the more enjoyable to watch since there was a steady stream of children laughing without inhibition at them.

The fair itself was one of a constellation of art events held in Bologna the last weekend of January. The atmospheric highlight was certainly la notta Bianca di Arte fiera on the Saturday evening. Bologna’s wide porticoes mediate perfect moseying opportunities all around the city centre and it was really very cool to see them light up as the buzz and movement in and out of galleries big and small spilled into them that night.  But for me at least, one of the very best things about Arte fiera, as with so many other art events, and certainly one of the endlessly curious things was watching or listening to other people’s reactions (often softly spoken and hesitant) to things that they see and for this at least may be it is the first impression which really counts.

Building the Revolution: Soviet Art and Architecture 1915-1935

Using a single platform to analyse a number of media can be a tricky thing and traditionally art historians have stuck to studying one dimension or another. Not so in Building the Revolution: Soviet Art and Architecture 1915-1935, an exhibition which showcases examples of Constructivist art and images of Russian avant-garde architecture in a very manageable, almost cosy space in the third floor galleries of the Royal Academy. Despite the proximity of display one doesn’t come away with an impression of overlap, direction of influence, let alone of dynamic reciprocity between the two art forms. This was not my only contention. The relationship between the two is not clearly explained and the idea of dialogue between the two not convincingly forged but, perhaps more importantly, the aesthetic of neither is given centre stage. It is the photographs of extant Soviet structures by the English photographer Richard Pare, taken in the 1990s and early noughties, which steal the show. Fine. But in that case name the exhibition better.  

Although Pare’s photographs are often sublime, I liked them a lot, I wasn’t persuaded that their presence on nearly every wall of the exhibition was useful in arguing for the strength of the Soviet art forms themselves. And that was the original premise for the exhibition (In her lecture, now available on the RA website, curator MaryAnne Stevens made the disclaimer that this exhibition is not a laudation of the new ideals of the Soviet Socialist state but was intented as an appreciative look at the dynamic art emerging at a specific period in history). Yes, of course seeing many of these structures through Pare’s lens accents their best features and encourages a new way of looking at them. We are familiar with Pare's kind of aesthetic, characteristically light and open, so it is easy to converse with and their significant size commands our attention. But they do not, I felt, leave ample room for the original Soviet aesthetic to speak for itself. It is also a shame that more is not made of the archive cards onto which photographs contemporary to the actual period are stuck. Their display can completely elude you if you forget to look down your nose.

Yet it was definitely an interesting exhibition– but perhaps this was only because it was a foray into unknown territory, my only way in was scant knowledge of related Italian futurist art – and much of the material on display is here in Britain for the first time so we must make the most of it. 

Gerard Richter. Panorama.

I had an inkling as to the assortment of Richter’s ‘looks’ but a stroll through the overridingly chronological path of the rooms of the Tate Modern’s exhibition Gerard Richter. Panorama revealed just how various an artist he is. One can be forgiven for falling short of reading up on the media, themes, theories and history explored and expounded by the 80-something year old German. It is, after all, quite something: stainless steel and annotated photographs through to oil on canvas; figural and abstract works; nods, deferent and not so deferent, to the art and theory of old and modern Masters; familial, experiential and world wide history. Quite a list. Richter’s intellectual investment is clear and whether you fancy yourself as an art critic, art historian or, perhaps preferably, neither, there is a wealth of material to get excited about.

It is surprising then that one does not feel completely saturated, nor indeed confused, as you wind up the ‘Cage’ rooms. Perhaps this is because an incredible display of technical virtuosity lends coherency to Richter’s oeuvre; it abounds and captivates right through to the end. Added to this is the fact that, just when you start to think you have seen too many photo – realist paintings or abstract works, the curators make timely breaks from the homogeneity of these beautifully measured paintings and present you with a stack of mirrors, or another of Richter's 'sculptural' pieces.

The plentiful abstract paintings are symptomatic of Richter’s signature use of the squeegee and his erasure technique but – and quite possibly I missed a trick here - I came away feeling that the exhibition script flaunts these specialised, individual terms without explanation. Another puzzling thing was how Richter painted his mesmerising ‘Seascape’ and his eminently effective birds-eye cityscapes, but perhaps that is not one which can be answered. I decided he must have to run forwards and backwards rather a lot but that sounds a bit Charles Cecil-esque. So, lots of reading up after....It’s only on until Sunday 8^th Jan (there are late night openings on Friday and Saturday) but see it if you can, ‘tis a GREAT show. 

According to The Times on Friday, 18th November 2011, the online dealer Viagogo has reported that £16 tickets for the below show are now being sold for £165 ... !

Leonardo da Vinci: Painter at the Court of Milan

Da Vinci is the kind of artist people use loud voices to talk about. So the quiet simplicity of the National Gallery’s recently opened exhibition, Leonardo da Vinci: Painter at the Court of Milan, is refreshing. The true success of the show lies in its collation of so many insanely beautiful works from the artist’s œuvre here in London. It is disarming to be face to face with these paintings. To behold painted individuals, sacred and profane, so mesmerizingly life like is an experience one is rarely gifted, so take stock.

Yes, the story familiar to spectators of any ‘blockbuster show’ is true here. Crowds crowd to see the minute details of an animated pen and ink study for The Last Supper (the painting of which was, as well we know, the subject of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code) and a veritable bouchon of gormless admirers form a horseshoe around The Belle Ferronière. But what a treat. Would it be blasphemous to equate the experience to being in a mosh pit? Yes. But don’t worry, just get involved with the visual binge. The National Gallery has the exhibition guide online to download at your leisure so save the reading up for another time...

Familiar with da Vinci’s paintings from books I had anticipated that only the infamous anatomical drawings, rare fodder for those keen to bridge the chasm between art and science, would be to my personal taste. How short sighted I am, how easily my memory fades and now I hear my tutor's creed resonate again: we must always see the real thing to judge. Seeing these paintings in the flesh couldn’t be further from the easy satiation provided by glossy reproductions on paper or the imagined pictures of novelistic colouring.  I’m tempted to say it was like nectar for the eye and soul but that would be too easy. Gnawingly hollow cheeks, protruding collar bones, fully embodied draperies and the flicker of fine ermine hair make a fool of your senses. As you look away you will begin to second guess what it is you are looking at.

Da Vinci is part of the ‘canon’ of art history, a world of masters, masterpieces and genius, an inheritance some academics have tried hard to shrug off but one that the commercial art world clinks glasses to. There is no overbearing narrative of either kind to greet you at this exhibition, it is more elliptical and there is, you might quip, something for everyone (there is a room devoted to the artist’s workshop as well as Romantic quotes floating at picture rail - level in each room). It is a curating coup. But to those trying to deconstruct any hierarchies, don’t bother going, you will not find a happy bed fellow here: the display of works by this artistic genius serve to uphold his cult status. Da Vinci’s name is not shy of celebrity and for once we have the chance to see rather than to read, hear or be told why.

Margarita note:
Les Deux Salons, 40 - 42 William IV Street, London, WC2N 4DD