Learning about Picasso

For the past six weeks, I’ve been taking a WEA course on Picasso. Caroline Levisse, our tutor, has the happy knack of being informal, and inviting questions of those attending, while also having an in-depth knowledge of art history. As a result, the group had its own dynamic and it was interesting to hear what members had to say about Picasso, his life, and the many varieties of his art – from paintings, through sculpture, to ceramics and much else [1].

Most were very enthusiastic about what they saw, and we were all happy to acknowledge that Picasso was an extraordinarily talented artist and, probably, a great one. Others, while admiring his virtuosity, were left to question why they didn’t “get” some of his art, even that which was based on artists whose work they did react to positively. I was one of the dissenters, and was relieved when one of the class members said he admired Guernica (see above), but was not especially moved by it. His comment came as a relief to me, as I found it difficult to engage with much of Picasso’s work and I started to wonder why.

Since I was young, I have loved looking at paintings and have tried to interpret what I see. As an undergraduate, I made many visits to the National and Tate Galleries in London and attempted to learn more by listening to talks and by reading. Some paintings made an instant impact on me, some took more time, and some left me baffled. Regrettably, much modern art fell into the latter category, but I was bowled over by the large-scale paintings by Turner: one of them, Sun Setting over a Lake, is shown below.

In contrast to Picasso, Turner’s work focussed on the “essence” of the world around us. He had the skill to paint portraits and, as James Hamilton writes [2]: 

Turner’s education as an artist was running on a number of fronts in the early 1790s [when in his teens]. He followed the standard Academy tuition of drawing from casts of antique sculpture, in preparation for the Life Class, which he entered on 25th June 1792.. .. Through the evidence of two self-portraits made at the beginning and end of the decade, Turner had more than a passing interest in becoming competent in portraiture, and must have taken lessons in it. All this was available to every other ambitious artist of his generation; but what stands out in Turner’s case is the breadth of his interest, and his dogged refusal to specialise. At all times he kept a weather eye open for opportunities to make money out of his art. 

From Hamilton’s description, we see parallels with Picasso: both had a rare talent for several categories of painting (and Picasso had many other creative outlets) and both had an interest in the monetary value of their work. To this can be added their enjoyment of a messy studio, and a powerful impulse to draw and paint at every opportunity. Both were strongly egocentric and driven men and there is an interesting “compare and contrast exercise" for someone interested in those aspects of their lives.

In Turner’s works, people play an ancillary role to the landscape in which they are portrayed: in his classical works in the style of Claude, the distant figures give scale and this is true also of other works, like Snow Storm: Hannibal and his Army Crossing the Alps (see above), where the many members of the army give the scene a strong sense of the sublime. Picasso, on the other hand, used a strongly anthropocentric approach and most of his works featured portraits of one kind or another and, while the contents of houses had a role in providing a setting, landscape did not.

Is this why I find it difficult to appreciate Picasso’s work, while being moved by that of Turner? Is it that I find Picasso’s use of strong lines challenging and find the more diffuse shapes in Turner’s work easier to relate to? What is certain is that I am a Romantic and I have also been shaped by my career in biology, with over forty years’ of research on animals, plants, microorganisms, and the environment in which they live. While recognising that humans are unique, and very highly evolved, I am aware that we are animals that are intimately linked to the natural world, even though we can isolate ourselves from it. That form of thinking must have come early in my life, for I always liked solitary walks along the coasts and lanes of Devonshire while growing up. Maybe that is the root of my Romanticism and why I can respect Picasso as a great artist, but find his work puzzling?

[1] James Voorhies (2004) Pablo Picasso (1881–1973). In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/pica/hd_pica.htm

[2] James Hamilton (1997) Turner, a Life. London, Hodder and Stoughton.

Seaside resorts: seasons, decades and geological time

We have all visited seaside resorts and some of us are fortunate enough to have been brought up in one: I lived in Paignton in South Devon and went to school in Torquay more than 50 years ago, so knew both towns well. I expect that they are rather different now to the way that I remember them, while both resorts have an interesting history. 

In his foreword to John Pike’s Iron Horse to the Sea, Crispin Gill writes [1]: 

The turnpike roads to Exmouth and Torquay first created the resorts of South Devon, but it was the coming of the railway.. ..that really saw these places grow. In the early days it was the aristocracy and the upper middle class who could afford holidays when these resorts were frequented mainly in the winter. Since the First World War, with the growth of holidays with pay, these resorts have become accessible to all and are now among the most popular in Britain. 

Initially, the railway terminated at Torquay (at what is now Torre) and Pike [1] describes the onward extension (including quotes from private papers supporting the proposal to build the railway): 

The route of the proposed railway was 11 miles in length and approached quite near to Brixham which was then becoming an important fishing port. Equally of interest is the prophecy of a future for Paignton ‘in climate of equal salubrity with Torquay, it possesses, in addition, a hard sandy beach nearly two miles in length, admirably adapted for bathing. Being in the centre of the Bay, it also embraces, within easy drives, all points of beauty … [it] annually draws to it numerous visitors for health as well as recreation.’ 

In Bradshaw’s Descriptive Railway Handbook [2], originally published in 1863 shortly after the extension had been completed, we have a fulsome account of the pleasures of Torquay, while Paignton is described thus: 

The situation of this place is really beautiful, commanding a central aspect of Torbay. Its picturesque church and the sand rounding from it to the fine woods of Tor Abbey, and the town and pier below it, form a pleasing coup d’œil. 

No mention of the swampy land between the railway and the sea and, by the relative size of the two entries, readers of Bradshaw’s will gain the impression that Paignton was regarded as a poor neighbour of Torquay, although there were wealthy residents. This may well have been the attitude of many outsiders, and some Paignton residents would not disagree with that perception, despite our pride in the town. 

The importance of winter visitors has been emphasised by StJohn Thomas and Smith [3]: 

As late as the 1890s, when following the abandonment of Brunel’s broad gauge, the first through trains ran from the North to Torbay, the resorts were still busier in winter than in summer, when many of their facilities closed down. Sea bathing (of course dependent on the bathing machine) was however growing rapidly in popularity and certainly local traffic was heavier in summer; Exeter in particular has a strong tradition of sending its people to the sea on day trips.. ..and by 1914 the upper middle class family by the sea was more usually a summer affair. 

By my time, in the 1950s, Paignton was a popular family resort and any wealthy visitors coming down in winter for their health were not apparent to us residents. In the opening of Walking with Gosse, I describe what I remembered [4]: 

After the summer holiday season, Paignton in the 1950s was typical of many seaside towns in the UK, being quiet and left to its residents. A small theatre put on rather good amateur pantomimes at Christmas and, at other times, hosted school music festivals, elocution contests, and the occasional Billy Graham-style Christian “Crusade”. Bakers, butchers, grocers, newsagents, chemists, banks and other high street shops supported the local community; while pubs, churches and clubs, associated with organisations like the British Legion, provided social life. In almost all homes, meals were prepared from basic ingredients and, as a treat, fish and chip shops dotted through the town were a source of takeaway meals: the fish being cod, plaice, haddock, bream or rock salmon (dogfish), all caught locally. 

Nothing much seemed to change in the pattern of life during the week, with Saturdays a time for relaxation and, perhaps, watching, or playing, sport. Sundays were for dressing in one’s “best” clothes, with very few shops, or places of entertainment, open. It was a day for gentle walks, going to church or Sunday School, and having a roast lunch (called dinner), followed by tea with tinned fruit and fancy cakes. If the routine of the week was broken by illness, support came from General Practitioners and a small hospital; while several dentists looked after teeth and dentures (that were much commoner then than now). 

That is one person’s view of winter in a summer-resort where all the shops selling rock, “kiss-me-quick hats”, saucy postcards, etc.. were boarded up, as were the stalls selling candyfloss, seafood, chips and the like. Some cafes remained open, but winter provided a bleaker outlook that was such a contrast to the summer, when train after train brought holidaymakers on Saturdays (changeover day), with similar numbers of trains taking them home after a week. I have tried to capture Paignton in winter in photographs (see below), as, to quote a 1918 advertisement, “one picture is worth a thousand words”.

 

Clearly, I have little skill as a photographer, but Rob Ball is highly skilled and also has the eye of an artist. He produced a wonderful photograph in his recent collection entitled Silent Coast [5] that was referenced by the Financial Times Magazine of 4th June 2022 (see below – the associated text is worth reading).

 

This image is not from Paignton, of course, but Rob’s photograph conjures up the ghostly feeling that seaside resorts can create out of season. There is no-one to be seen, yet everything that provides entertainment is still there, but locked up. In looking at the image, one remembers the noise of excited children running around in bathing costumes, the warmth of the balmy air, the thrill of slides (especially water slides), etc.. 

There are not only changes in types of visitors and their means of getting to the resorts of Torbay at different times of the year as there are also changes in topography. For example, the magnificent view of the coast from Babbacombe has been altered by the cliff fall at Oddicombe (see images below), where saturated sandstones fractured at weak points and then slid down. A different form of erosion comes in the effect of tides and waves that attack coastal defences and have severed some coastal paths that linked adjacent coves. Storms and tidal surges have also affected the railway lines that run to Torquay and Paignton through Dawlish, where landslips and breaches are familiar to both contemporary residents and those that are interests in transport history. These are decadal, rather than seasonal, changes, but what of Paignton in earlier times?

 

Before it became a resort, the town was renowned for its production of vegetables and it was a centre for cider making. There were also “Paignton cockles” and other shellfish, and fish, to collect and that reminds us of the other, non-human, residents of the shores of Torbay, well-known to those residents and holidaymakers that enjoy rock pooling and similar activities. There are many types of seaweeds, snails and barnacles and these show different levels of tolerance to drying, with some found higher up the shore than others and some never uncovered by the sea, even at low spring tides that occur every two weeks or so. Of course, tides are familiar to holidaymakers, as the sea creeps up the beach as the tide comes in twice each day, reducing the available space on the sand and creating a Canute-style adventure for children who have defences around their sand castles. Very few visitors and residents think of the effect of tides on other shore life. 

The presence of the beach for sunbathing and swimming is something we take for granted and, apart from the various erosional events, is little changed within our lifetime. However, if we go back tens of thousands of years to the time of the last Ice Age, the coast was way to the east of where it is now and Torbay was part of a lowland forest. We would recognise some features, like headlands and hilly peaks, but we would certainly not recognise the coast as it was then; increase in sea level at the time of the melting of the northern ice cap giving us the outline of the shore that we have today. If we look into the future, it seems certain that sea level rise resulting from global warming will cause local inundations and, without increased sea defences, the coastline will be inland of its current position. I wonder what it will be like and what kinds of visitors it will attract? 

 

[1] John Pike (1987) Iron Horse to the Sea: Railways in South Devon. Bradford on Aven. Ex-Libris Press. 

[2] Anon (1863) Bradshaw’s Descriptive Railway Hand-book of Great Britain and Ireland. London, W.J.Adams. 

[3] David StJohn Thomas and Simon Rocksborough Smith (1973) Summer Saturdays in the West. Newton Abbot, David & Charles. 

[4] Roger S Wotton (2020) Walking with Gosse: Natural History, Creation and Religious Conflicts. e-book. 

[5] https://www.robball.co.uk/