Prints by Giovanni Fattori

Another day, another artist who is new to me!

There are some Fattori prints in room 91 at the moment which fascinate me. The recent Italian acquisitions are opening up a whole new world for me, so forgive me if this is disjointed.

Fattori (1825-1908) was a painter from Livorno, Italy. As with Paglia, who's Lion I showed you a few days ago, he fought in the revolutionary wars of the 19th century so there was often a certain political charge in his work. He aligned himself with the Macchiaioli, a group of Tuscan painters who were determined to break away from the restrictions of the Italian academy and who understood that illusion is based not on detail and refinement but on colour, light and shade. As with the impressionists a few years later, they were ridiculed for showing work which looked more like sketches than finished painting. Although there is a lot of overlap with the impressionists, their goals were more politicised. Fattori's paintings were often either understated portraits or military scenes of soldiers at rest on the one hand, and large historical battle scenes on the other. The theme I will pick up here though is the peasant landscape. Again and again he painted animals resting, people trudging, haystacks and so on in a land of harsh sun and parching wind.  As he became more downbeat and dis-illusioned, so this work became ever harsher. Anyone who has read the Little World of Don Camillo will consider the landscape familiar. It is this world that dominates the little part of his printed output that I have seen.

 As he became more downbeat and dis-illusioned, so this work became ever harsher.

The early 20th century was a time of constant change in art and Fattori, who while never really having been in fashion had at one point perhaps been considered to be at the forefront of such change, was quickly left behind. He lived out his final years in a poverty at least equal to that of his subject matter.

Ice Age Art: Arrival of the Modern Mind

The British Museum's current blockbuster is a gathering of artefacts made around the turn of the last Ice Age. It argues that the existence of these 40-10,000 year old objects proves that by then man had evolved into what he is now, with the same instincts and capacity for thought. It goes on to argue that the discovery of specialised workshops and work done by experimental archeologists suggest specialist artists existed, and that means there must have been organised social groups - one hunts, another makes - and given that there are individual caves where there are similar paintings made thousands of years apart then these social groups must have retained very consistent values over an enormous length of time.


One thing I was delighted to see was the acknowledgement of, or maybe even obsession with, the fact that we will never know what the purpose of the objects was and although its fun to guess its ultimately futile. As such the secondary message was that we can't do other than appreciate these as we would contemporary art. To this end the exhibition tried to show how art had been influenced by the discovery of these objects but I found this a half-hearted distraction - a photograph of Picasso's studio, a stone Henry Moore, a couple of Matisse prints.

So what of the objects themselves? They range from the very famous - the Venus of Espugue that obsessed Picasso, a reproduction of the lion-man (the original is in a lab in Germany as some of the missing bits have recently been discovered and are being re-attached) - to things that were completely new to me. I will concentrate on just a few.

The lion-man is an underwhelming object in photographs, but in the (false) flesh it comes to life. Carved from a mammoth tusk, it is a man with a lion's head. It is simple, relaxed and stylised yet utterly sure of itself. What really struck me was its size. It is the perfect size to be grasped around the waist by a man's hand. Indeed this is really evident in the video that shows someone making a reproduction with Ice Age tools. When you consider its feet are cut at an angle so that it would not be able to stand on its own you can't help but wonder. It could have been made to lean against a wall or in a niche but with its back leaning forwards as it follows the curve of the tusk it would look like it were cowering - hardly lion-like. So surely it was made to be held. Even today, held above your head there would be a kind of "By the power of Greyskull" moment, or held in front of you before a crowd or between you and an individual there would be a clear statement of power. I know I said its futile to guess, but that's my point. These objects are so engaging, ambiguous and alive that its very difficult not to be carried away into a realm of imagination by the best of them and that is what sets them apart as masterpieces few artists are capable of matching.

Perhaps my favourite object is the tiny diving bird. It half the size of my little finger and utterly compelling. When you scour the web there is an assumption it is diving through the air and even the card accompanying the exhibit in the show speculates about the spiritual role of birds in flight. I disagree. It looks an awful lot like a cormorant underwater to me. The neck is perhaps a little short but I think the distortion from the surface of the water accounts for that. I see cormorants along this stretch of the river every day and, if I'm lucky and the water is clear and the sun is in the right direction, when I'm up high sometimes I glimpse them underwater. This reflects where, for me, a lot of the strength of the work comes from. To be able to accurately carve something moving that quickly, which you will only ever glimpse, requires an unimaginable understanding of your subject. This is a point Andrew Graham Dixon picked up in the preview show on the BBC when comparing the horses of George Stubbs with the the work on display here. Stubbs dissected horses. He knew every sinew and every vein and it shows  in his paintings. Ice age men would perhaps have spent a large chunk of their lives killing, gutting, butchering and eating the subjects of their art. They are likely to have known the appearance, texture, weight, smell and taste of every part of their subjects anatomy in a way no modern artist does, even if they didn't understand the function of each part as we do.

I do wonder about the most common raw material, tusk. The drawings in particular have a particular quality which is consistent across thousands of miles and thousands of years. They feature very clean, precise yet lively lines. I suspect it is inherent to the process - scratching with a very fine and sharp implement on a surface which maybe has softer and harder areas. Most of the lines seem to be a constant width yet the effect is of a width that varies, so I would speculate the lines are deeper in some areas than others. If I can find an equivalent material I would like to explore this further.

In conclusion, it is a compelling exhibition which is thoroughly recommended. Man has been capable of extra-ordinary things for a lot longer than we might think. As an artist, the key lessons are not new but are of fundamental importance. Rigour is everything. Learn your subject intimately through observing it every which way you can. Then take your time and anything is possible.

Ice Age Art - Part 1

There is a rather splendid exhibition of drawings and carvings at the British Museum at the moment. I will chew over the exhibits soon, but first I wanted to discuss the exhibition itself. This often interests me as hanging work is a black art in itself so I am always curious to see other people's approaches.

There is a truism in many fields, notably typography, that if people notice your work then you've not got it right. I read a quote from Adrian Frutiger (the designer of many famous fonts including Univers) the other day which sums it up - If you can remember the spoon you ate your lunch with it was the wrong shape. In his epic work Elements of Typographic Style, Robert Bringhurst compares typography to a loaf of bread - done well it is very satisfying on its own in many, many ways but ultimately it is only there to "honour" the filling of the sandwich. For me the same should apply to exhibitions - the infrastructure should not be noticeable.

There is a reason I have taken that little diversion. I want to pay tribute to whoever set up the lighting inside each cabinet. The cabinets are very simple and, as the room is so dark, I don't have a clue what they look like. The lighting is done with very small, directional lights about the width of a biro. There are several above and below each exhibit and they have been very carefully directed. The net result is that there are no deep shadows obscuring the detail and yet there is enough contrast and the angle of the lighting so acute that every detail, mark and texture of every object leaps out. My one complaint was that the rest of the rooms were so dark that the contrast between the light levels was very much the poorly shaped spoon or the ostentatious loaf of bread. Its hard to see how the low light levels were for the benefit of the exhibits since they were bathed in light from the spots. If it was to be cave-like they shouldn't have lit the exhibits so brightly. It may have been for un-necessary dramatic effect but whatever the thinking it made the lighting inside the cabinets appear too artsy when it was in fact supremely functional.

The other thing I wanted to comment on is the atmosphere of the place. I have never been to an exhibition quite like it. It is hugely popular and they limit the number of entrants at any one time but it is still crowded. What a crowd though! The levels of concentration were intense and near universal. There was no conversation. It was like starving men eating, ramming it down their throats as if they were scared the food was going to be taken away. Thanks to the four sided cabinets it is easy to watch the people on the other side as they look at same exhibits as you. You can look into their faces, lit by same spots that light the objects. Their concentration was near total and rarely broken. Not once did I see anyone look back. I don't know how much of this was the quality of the objects and how much was the modern obsession with the audio guide but either way it was remarkable.

Come back soon to find out what was in the cabinets!

Ice Age Art

I am so glad I didn't make it to London yesterday, for if I had I would have missed out on the new pay-to-play exhibition at the British Museum. There are enough free things in London that I tend to avoid the paid for shows, but last night Andrew Graham Dixon was on a Culture Show special giving the background to the latest one, Ice age Art - The Arrival of the Modern Mind.

If you're in the UK watch the show before it vanishes off the I-player next Saturday. If you're not in the UK, get on a plane to Heathrow, then the Underground will take you straight to Russell Square - you don't even need to change trains. When you get to the surface you'll be a few minutes walk away, just follow the signs. If the flight isn't too long you could do it as a day trip!

Seriously though, this show appears to be that important and that majestic. When I draw, sometimes its about tonal structure but more often its about using quality of line to capture something as economically as possible. This I share with ice age man, but the quality, vision and skill on display in the objects highlighted last night is humbling. There were moments when I just sat open mouthed.

Some of the objects are familiar, some less so, but if you draw or sculpt or even think, it looks like this show may just change your practice.

As and when I get there I will report back.

Ps - While you're there, don't go and see the terrapin 2 posts down, its on loan at the British Library until April.

The Mystery of the Terrapin in the Cistern

I'm getting myself together for a day in London. It doesn't happen very often what with me being broke and hating the place, so when I go I like to have a plan and, thanks to this blog, I do. Morandi at the Estorick and Friedrich at the National for sure. I'll have to see where there is a Nicholson or two but there's bound to be one in one of the Tates. If its Tate Britain there will be a Nash and a Sutherland in the same room, and it would be rude not to get up close and personal with good old JMW. I would look into the Barbican as its almost en route between Islington and Pimlico; the free gallery always has something interesting and unexpected and that is where I discovered Anthony Whishaw but unfortunately it appears the current exhibit is so popular there is a three or four hour wait. Wherever I end up, it will be a hard day of deconstructing, examining and beard-stroking.

The point of this post though is not a route but a habit. Every time I go to town, I start with the same object: the Terrapin in the Islamic room at the foot of the north stairs in the British Museum.

Sculpture is not my thing, I prefer the ambiguous spaces of paintings but I adore this. Its one huge lump of jade, carved into a terrapin 18 inches long with workmanship that is flawless. Even the underside is immaculate. I know little about carving, but I do know jade is difficult to work with. The fascination for me though  is stylistic. The terrapin was carved in Allahabad in the 17th century, yet its form is so sleek and simplified it could have been made in the west between the two world wars. Despite this simplicity, it is so accurate that experts have identified both the species and the gender and I just love it when objects manage to bridge to opposing sets of goals like this - in this instance simplicity and realism, stone and liveliness, understatement and extravagance.

The sadness is that it is not better known. It was discovered in a cistern and now lives in a mirrored glass box in the far corner of a room filled with Iznik ceramics, antique weaponry and intricate astrolabes. The people in that room aren't interested in a terrapin by a window and just walk past. In truth, most people never even find the room, tucked down by the back door, and those that do are often just getting their bearings before heading upstairs to the nearest blockbuster gallery, the Egyptians.

Update: The terrapin is on loan at the British Library until April