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.

Visits to the coffee shop

Twice a week, I enjoy having a flat white at my local coffee shop, choosing a time (about 11.00) when there are not too many people about and there is thus a choice of tables. My ritual is the same each time: order the coffee, collect it, settle at a table, and then read the paper that I have bought from the M&S shop that is next door to my habitual haunt. I take my time over the coffee (unless it gets busy and I need to give up my table, unlike the “home office” customers) and then walk back home. Nine times out of ten I feel better than when I arrived at the shop and I can’t really explain why. It’s not because of the stimulus of caffeine, although that may play a small part, but more about making me feel part of a bigger world; something about which psychiatrists would have their own comments to make. I also enjoy coffee with friends, but my solo visits have a quite different quality, suiting my mildly autistic nature.

Sometimes, a piece in the newspaper has a special appeal and that happened this morning when I read the review by Ellen Peirson-Hagger of Sheila Heti’s book Pure Colour in the "i" newspaper for 25th February 2022. It contained a paragraph that really made me think (both the review and the paragraph are shown below).

The question that was posed touched a nerve ending and I started to ask myself why I am moved deeply by some works of art – I guess that is something we all do, but I can only speak from my own experience.

When I’m in the right mood, I can be so moved by some pieces of music that I almost feel shaken. Something very deep within me is getting touched and I can easily see how this could be interpreted as “the breath of God”. What is this feeling? I don’t know the answer, but the effect is profound. Does it help to know that the composers that most affect me in this way are Elgar, Vaughan Williams and Sibelius? All three wrote music that was evocative of places that I know and where I have been “at one” with both Nature and Landscape. Of course, it is easy to say that my feelings are those of a Romantic and that it is all very emotional, but that doesn’t explain why I am that way. It feels like an attempt to find “light at the end of a tunnel”.

Other arts also affect me, but not to such a profound emotional level, although some paintings I return to stare at every time I visit galleries on repeat visits. It might be works by Turner or by Murillo, and there is no consistency of subject matter, just something that draws me. Turner I find fascinating, because he was seeking to portray something about the essence of Nature: Murillo because there is no artist better at conveying human tenderness. Like my reaction to certain pieces of music, the feelings can be (inadequately) described, but they cannot be shared.

It leaves me with the question of whether what I feel is similar to what others feel and whether that deep feeling causes them to believe in God. It’s interesting what can come from reading one’s paper in the local coffee shop.

 

Titian, Turner and Inspiration

J.M.W.Turner is recognised for his exceptional use of light and his love of storms, mists, rough seas and other threatening, or mysterious, natural events. Meteorological effects fascinated him from boyhood, when he lay on his back to look at the sky [1], not allowing any intrusion from his surroundings, and then returning home to paint his impressions. Like many artists, Turner spent much of his childhood drawing and painting what he saw and this continued throughout his life. He was an enthusiastic traveller and produced many sketchbooks filled with landscapes, but he also painted figures and buildings; some real, some imaginary.

Turner's first formal training came as a teenager at the Royal Academy Schools [1], when he developed an interest in architecture and perspective, both features of his later paintings in the style of Claude Lorrain. Further influences were Aelbert Cuyp and other painters of classical landscapes, but there is no doubting Turner's originality in producing a synthesis that was very much his own. 

A less obvious influence is the work of Titian. Some of Turner's sketches based on the Venetian artist (see below) are held in the collections of Tate Britain and date from 1802, when Turner was 27 years old and was making his first visit to the Louvre in Paris. The sketches feature compositional and figure details, and during his visit to that great gallery, Turner had "his eye taken most firmly by Titian" [1] and, especially, his use of colour.

As Vasari wrote, Titian "...well deserved to be considered the most perfect imitator of nature of our times as regards colouring..." [2] Titian was among the first to paint with oils on canvas, rather than board, and the palette available to him in Venice not only allowed the portrayal of the splendid colours of clothing popular in Venice at the time, but other effects. Nowhere is this better demonstrated than in the altarpiece in the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. This is what Hugh Honour and John Fleming wrote about this work [3]:

Titian (Tiziano Vecelli, c.1490-1576) was given his first chance to reveal the full force of his artistic energy when he was asked to paint a vast picture of the Assumption of the Virgin for the high altar of S Maria dei Frari [in 1516-1518]. Hitherto, Venetian altarpieces had been intended to be seen to best advantage from the altar steps; their figures were life-size or less and usually set within simulated architecture conceived as an extension of the church. Titian's altarpiece, the largest ever painted in Venice, with heroic-scale figures, was designed to catch the eye of anyone entering the west door of the nave, nearly 100 yards away. 

It is not only the scale of the piece that captures our attention, but the luminosity of the colour enveloping the Virgin. Turner, already impressed by the light quality in Venice, and the magical interaction of land and sea, must have liked the use of bright yellow-white and the ability of the painting to grab the attention from a distance, something that was such a feature of Turner's work. He would have appreciated Titian's showmanship, a quality that he himself enjoyed on Varnishing Days in the Royal Academy. There are many stories about Turner on these occasions, adding dramatic flourishes to some paintings, commenting on the work of other artists, and generally enjoying being one of the centres of attention. We don't know how many of the stories are true [1].

There can be no questioning Turner's genius as an artist and I am moved by many of his paintings and by his feeling for Nature. If I am correct in suggesting that Titian's palette was an influence, we can thank that Venetian Master, alongside all the other influences, for helping to make Turner so inspiring.

[1] James Hamilton (1997) Turner: A Life. London, Hodder and Stoughton.

[2] Giorgio Vasari (2005) Vasari’s Lives of the Artists (translated by Mrs Jonathan Foster). New York, Dover Publication, Inc. [Original from 1550, with a revised Second Edition in 1568]

[3] Hugh Honour and John Fleming (2005) A World History of Art (Seventh Edition). London, Laurence King.