Giacomo Balla - Futurist Artist

The Futurists, as their name implies, wanted to focus on creating a unique and dynamic vision of the future with artists incorporating images of urban landscapes and modern machinery into their work including trains, cars and aeroplanes.  Their work encompassed a variety of artforms including painting, sculpture, architecture, theatre and music with an emphasis on violence, speed and the working classes.  The movement was in effect a celebration of the machine age, with a deliberately provocative tone. 

The Futurists were based primarily in Italy and were lead by the charismatic poet Filippo Marinetti who produced in 1908 the manifesto below;

“We want to fight ferociously against the fanatical, unconscious and snobbish religion of the past, which is nourished by the evil influence of museums.  We rebel against the supine admiration of old canvases, old statues and old objects, and against the enthusiasm for all that is worm-eaten, dirty and corroded by time; we believe that the common contempt for everything young, new and palpitating with life is unjust and criminal.”

Dynamism Of A Dog On A Leash, 1912, oil on canvas, 90 cm 110 cm

The movement was at it’s most active in the years 1909-14 and influenced the thinking of some artists in Britain (hence the Vorticists).  The depiction of movement or dynamism lay at the heart of much Futurist work, and artists developed some novel techniques to express speed and motion including blurring, repetition, and the use of lines of force.  And here, they adopted methods employed by the cubists.  This brings me to the work of Giacomo Balla.   

Balla was born in Turin in 1871 and is thought to have had little formal training in art.  He moved to Rome in his early 20s and gradually came under the influence of Marinetti.  Unlike most Futurists though, Balla was a lyrical painter and seemed less concerned with modern machines or violence.  His 1909 painting “Street Light - A Study of Light” is a dynamic depiction of light.  Futurism’s fascination with the urgency and energy of modern life is evident in this work.

Street Light, 1909, oil on canvas, 175 cm x 115 cm

In 1912 Balla produced “Dynamism Of A Dog On A Leash”, a playful exploration in the depiction of movement.  The influence of cubism is thought to be evident in this painting.  Reference has also been made to the principle of simultaneity in this work, that is; the rendering of motion by simultaneously showing many aspects of a moving object.  

During the First World War, Balla produced a number of abstract works in which he further explored the depiction of speed through the use of planes of colour.  These paintings are the most abstract of any produced by the futurists.  The exploration into the optical possibilities of photo-scientific research carried out by Eadweard Muybridge and others were also thought to be influential in the work of Balla.  This research gave Balla the opportunity to study the true nature of movement.  The French impressionist Edgar Degas was also heavily influenced by Muybridge’s work.

Abstract Speed & Sound, 1914, oil on board, 55 cm x 77 cm

The horrors of the First World War saw many artists turn away from the ideals of Futurism.  In his series “A History Of British Art” the art historian Andrew Graham-Dixon makes reference to the ‘machine gun’ philosophizing of the Vorticists and their joyful celebration of 20th Century technology.  He believes this worshiping of the modern and the streamlined was eventually to be seen as a hollow pose due to WW1.  “How can you celebrate technology when in war it can so effortlessly turn the human face into a bloodied abstract.”

Abstract Speed - The Car Has Passed, 1913, oil on canvas, 50 cm x 65 cm

The Futurist artists Umberto Boccioni and Antonio Sant’Elia both died in military service during WW1 and the influence of Futurism as a force in contemporary art waned after the conflict.  However, Balla remained true to the early principals of Futurism (without the violence) and later in his career returned to more figurative work.  He also designed futurist furniture and “anti-neutral” clothing.  He died in 1958.

References; 

The Art Story

A History of British Art - BBC TV

Brittanica.com

Wikipedia

Art Of The Suburbs - George Shaw

He has been described as the Constable of the council estate.  British artist George Shaw was born in 1966 and raised in Tile Hill, a suburb of Coventry.  A painter of the ordinary and the mundane, Shaw seems to imbue these scenes with a romantic longing, whilst enhancing their bleakness.  He  studied art at Sheffield Polytechnic followed by the Royal College of Art in the 1990s, but the post-war council estates where he grew up continued to inspire him.

Playtime

Memories of childhood and adolescence provided the inspiration for his work - a sentimental and nostalgic reverie (as he puts it), but he believes that now his work is a confrontation with reality rather than “relaxing back into a comfortable situation”.  In an interview, Shaw expressed frustration over the need to develop a special language in order to understand contemporary art, whereas for him it’s all about engaging directly with another human being.  He wanted to produce an image which a professor of fine art could discuss with his mother and neither of them being condescending towards the other.  A universal language perhaps?

From Shaw's 12 Short Walks series, etching 2005

The religious overtones in the titling of his work derives from Shaw being raised as a Catholic, thus his titles often refer to the Bible or the life of Christ.  Commentating on his home town, Shaw once said “I don't think it has ever left me, that sense of possibility and familiarity and possible danger lurking out there somewhere beyond. I haunted the place and now it haunts me.”

The Path On The Edge, 1997-98

Shaw has some interesting insights into the responses to his work, “It has been said my work is sentimental. I don’t know why sentimentality has to be a negative quality. What I look for in art are the qualities I admire or don’t admire in human beings.”  He seems to be able to intertwine different emotions into his work.  There is a sense of foreboding, isolation, nostalgia in his work where the viewer has been taken on a journey to something hidden, or perhaps to an escape from some unexplained drama.  “I fear death considerably and I fear the ending of things, so I am anxious about things coming to an end... I am very clear in a lot of the images to always paint ways out.”

From Scenes From the Passion series; Christmas Eve

In an interview with the art historian Andrew Graham Dixon, Shaw explained some of his motivations. “When I first went to an art gallery at age 14 (the Tate), I didn’t see my world in that gallery….where is my life, perhaps my life isn’t worth anything?  You stepped out of your world into a gallery.”  So he decided to open the window at home and draw what’s there.  “And if you don’t find it beautiful, that’s your fault.”  Perhaps ironically, his work is now on the walls of the Tate.  Graham-Dixon argues that Shaw’s work isn’t just an accurate depiction of an urban environment, they are descriptions of a mood - modern man alienated in a largely man-made landscape.

End Of Time 2008-09

He works from photographs taken with a humble camera, he works quickly, not needing to roam around looking for inspiration.  He already has the inspiration, he just needs to find images that support it.  He has painted in water colour but primarily uses enamel.  

Shaw’s work is a melancholic exploration of the passage of time, of a sense of loss.  He often recalls a pub in Tile Hill, once the social hub of the area, but then demolished with no record of its existence save for his drawings.  The Guardian sums up his work succinctly, “the passage of time, the roots of who we are and the melancholy of approaching middle age.”

Every Brushstroke is Torn Out of My Body, 2016, Enamel on canvas, 198 cm wide

Hello, my name is Geoff. You may be interested to know that I’m a fulltime artist these days and regularly exhibit my work in Victoria, but particularly in Melbourne. You may wish to check out my work using the following link; https://geoffharrisonarts.com

References;

Artuk.org

Artfund.org

The Secret of Drawing - BBC TV

Johan Christian Dahl - Painter of Serenity

If I had to pick my all time favourite night time scene, it would be “View Of Dresden By Moonlight” painted by Johan Christian Dahl in 1839.  The towers reaching majestically towards the heavens, the flares on the riverbank, the candlelit rooms in the distance and the sheen of moonlight on the water.  (A very close second would be JMW Turner’s amazing watercolour “Alnwick Castle”, painted 10 years earlier.)

View of Dresden By Moonlight, 1839, 78 cm x 130 cm

You can see why he is considered the first great Norwegian romantic painter.  In his series ‘Art Of Scandinavia’, art historian Andrew Graham Dixon paints a bleak picture of life in Norway in the years leading up to the arrival of Dahl on the artistic landscape.  Norway was essentially a backward country of farmers and fisherman, cobblers and carpenters, there were no universities, art schools or art galleries so seeking an artistic career must have seemed a pipedream.  Or an irrelevance.

But that didn’t deter Dahl who was the son of a poor west coast fisherman.  His early paintings convinced a group of wealthy local merchants to sponsor his studies in Denmark and Germany, and he would spend most of his life abroad.  Yet he would consistently return to his native Norway for inspiration.

Winter At The Sognefjord, 1827, 75 cm x 61 cm

Sometimes he depicted harsh winter scenes, in other paintings the sun would be shining, but it was always a pale watery sun struggling to break through the clouds.  Graham-Dixon argues that Dahl saw the undeveloped landscape as a virtue, a symbol of Norway’s innocence. 

View from Stalheim, 1842, 190 cm x 246 cm

In his monumental “View From Stalheim”, Dahl seems to pull out all stops to produce a grand patriotic statement, perhaps presenting the essence of what it meant to be Norwegian at a time of rampant industrialization in other parts of Europe.

Dahl spent a large part of his life in Germany, settling in Dresden around 1820.  He befriended the famous German romantic painter Caspar David Friedrich and they became very close and were godfathers to each other’s children.  They painted and exhibited together and from 1824, even shared the same house with their respective families.

View From Lyshornet, 1836, 41 cm x 51 cm

The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer asked in 1840 “Why has looking at the moon become so beneficiary, so soothing and so sublime?  Because the moon remains purely an object for contemplation, not of the will. […] Furthermore, the moon is sublime, and moves us sublimely because it stays aloof from all our earthly activities, it sees all, yet takes no part in it…”

There is serenity and peace in Dahl’s painting of moonlit Dresden, a suggestion of nature and people coexisting harmoniously.  We see the Augustus Bridge spanning the Elbe River and the Baroque Church of Our Lady in the middle distance, and to the right the Old Town (Altstadt) – the historic town centre.  What could have been a meditation on loneliness and alienation has perhaps become a comforting scene, a reassurance that we are not alone.

References;

Art Of Scandinavia, presented by Andrew Graham-Dixon BBC 4 (2016)

artschaft.com – Johan Christian Dahl (2018)

Living With Art

How are we supposed to appreciate art?  It may seem a dumb question, but art historians and critics tend to tie themselves into knots sometimes when answering it.  It is the belief of many commentators that society has got it wrong by focusing on the technical elements of a work of art, or its provenance or its historical context.

Sure, these issues are important, but what we are not encouraged to do is to connect up works of art with the trials and aspirations of our daily lives.  “It is quickly deemed vulgar, even repugnant, to seek personal solace, encouragement, enlightenment or hope from high culture” ALAIN De BOTTON. To put it simply, we are not encouraged to appreciate art as a means of instruction on how to live and die well.

The art historian Andrew Graham-Dixon remarked that the paintings of Howard Hodgkin were a rebuttal to the dry academic puritanism of much art criticism these days that can’t relate to a work of art until it’s been reduced to a set of abstract concepts.  I recall having an art teacher at RMIT who was embarrassed by the display of emotion in art.

Elliott Erwitt, His first wife and their child, New York, 1953

Photographer Elliott Erwitt was born to Russian Jewish parents in Paris in 1928, and as the war clouds loomed, his family emigrated to America.  He felt being an émigré helped him in his job – being an outsider looking in.  He is regarded as a humanist and humourist.

Eve Arnold, Divorce In Moscow 1966

Eve Arnold’s photograph could be considered a modern day version of those moralizing images that characterised Christian paintings of the past.  In a secular world and with considerable skill, Arnold brings us face to face with the consequences of letting ourselves and others down.

Jessica Todd Harper, The Agony In The Kitchen 2012

This photo was specifically commissioned for the book Art As Therapy, written by Alain De Botton and John Armstrong.  The rationale of this exercise is that art should start serving our psychological needs as effectively as it served theological and state needs for centuries.  We are asked here to consider what impact viewing this image might have on a couple whose own relationship is going through some difficulties.  They may realise that other people have the same sorrows and troubles as they have.  They may connect with something that is universal and unashamed.  They are not robbed of their dignity but are learning the deepest truths about being human.

Rogier Van Der Weyden, Descent From The Cross, circa 1438

Even in a secular world it is still possible to feel the emotion pouring out of this painting.  It transcends the perhaps narrow Christian context to touch the viewer in ways many other paintings of that era can’t.  It is a technical masterpiece for sure, but its psychological power goes far beyond.

Emotion In Art

While studying art at RMIT University in the 1990’s I felt a not-so-subtle pressure to steer clear of sentimentality and emotional subject matter in my art practice.   I’m not sure why emotion was so frowned upon, a sign of the times perhaps but there was a clear preference for dry, conceptual work.

Thus I often felt alienated at university, and I do recall a presentation given by one of the lecturers who was most adverse to emotion in art.  It soon became clear to me that she was in denial – almost in denial of life, so I formed the opinion that this issue of emotion was her problem, not mine.

I was reminded of all this when viewing Andrew Graham-Dixon’s 1996 series “A History Of British Art” on DVD.  He argues that because of their intense colour and blatant sensuality, Howard Hodgkin’s paintings (above) have met with an uneasy response in Britain.  He describes Hodgkin’s work as a rebuttal to puritanism, especially to that intellectual puritanism which is embarrassed by pleasure or any form of strong emotion and are only comfortable with pictures once they’ve been reduced to a set of abstract ideas.  He describes Hodgkin’s work as expressing a language of emotion, a language of the body.

And for some reason, a drawing by Vincent Van Gogh, made early in his career, also came to mind.  The subject is Sien, one of his early mistresses who was a pregnant prostitute.  You can see the emotion pouring out of this work.  How put-upon I would have been producing a work like this at RMIT, regardless of the technical skill it may have embodied.

I need to be moved in some way by a scene before I will paint it.  The aim always is to create a mood which allows the viewer to enter the scene and absorb the atmosphere in there.

Cardiac Surgeon Inspired By Art

In his series “The Secret Of Drawing”, art historian Andrew Graham-Dixon discusses with prominent British heart surgeon Francis Wells the significance of the anatomical drawings of Leonardo Da Vinci . Wells has used the drawings of Da Vinci to assist him in developing new ways of repairing damaged hearts.

Francis Wells

Wells uses drawing to not only help him prepare for the details of a heart operation, he produces small drawings on paper using the blood from the chest cavity to give a “replay” of the procedure to his team.

Leonardo was fascinated by how the mitral valve closes and produced a glass bulb in the shape of an aorta and pumped water through it. He put grass seeds in the water so he could trace it’s movement. Through his drawings, Leonardo developed the worlds first artificial heart valve. All this in 1513, when he he had no one to talk to, there was no heart surgery or meaningful medicine, and to most people it wouldn’t have made any sense.

These experiments of Leonardo, and the drawings he produced from them have enabled Wells to work out how to restore the normal opening and closing of the mitral valve.

Francis Wells describes Leonardo as a flat out original thinker and a genius. He has spent many years studying the anatomical drawings of Leonardo and encourages significant interaction between artists and scientists.