Abram Games

We've now put up one of the exhibitions I visited in Wales a few months ago, Abram Games: Maximum Meaning, Minimum Means, in the James Hockey & Foyer Galleries, Farnham Surrey, and it opened on 23 June. If I may quote directly from the website:

"Abram Games (1914-1996) produced many of the most memorable and graphic images in wartime and post war Britain. As well as hundreds of posters Games also produced stamps, book jackets and emblems including those for the Festival of Britain and BBC Television."

Despite a slow start to hanging due to some framing issues and sourcing some sparsely available materials, I think the quality of the finished exhibition is really delightful. Compared to the mess of some previous exhibitions, the whole process has been very smooth, which is extra pleasing as it's practically the first show the current galleries team have effected from start to finish. Still to complete before the announcement of 'a beautiful success': Educational Programme, including typography and poster design workshops, and a couple of expert talks.

Martin Lambie-Nairn (pictured above) said a few well chosen words at the opening and was a superb speaker. He later bought a book from me (at the discount price, of course), along with many other people. A top-notch night for merchandise sales, seeing as we'd expected to sell about £100 worth throughout the 8 weeks of the show, but took £200 at the opening alone.

Degree Shows: London

On Saturday 16 June, Rule and myself ventured to London with hopes of something exciting from either Goldsmiths or the RCA.

The Fine Art/Art History Degree Show at Goldsmiths was delightfully well executed, barring a few disappointments as I'm learning to be the norm whilst these kinds of shows reveal very little about the development of artists or their work. I was relieved to find that Chris Baker's paintings were wonderfully impressive, having previously been disheartened to hear the phrase 'geometric forms'. As discussed with Rule, I think my definition of 'geometric' in this sense may be confused with 'regular'. In essence, I feared the use of masking tape.

Previous wonderings had questioned whether the course of Fine Art with Art History would distract from practical workings whilst theoretical modules took place. However, the combination of practical and theory is present in all Fine Art single Degrees, in some form. The combination at Goldsmiths, I presume, may be slightly more cohesive and useful in providing context for the process of creating work, and I only presume because it seems to translate well to the final show.

The quality of painting exhibited for the Fine-Art-on-its-own Degree show was distressingly terrible. Or it may have been trendy, and therefore 'awesome', but I found it to be disgusting. Rule suggested that Luc Tuymans could be to blame. I'm not inclined to disagree.

Meanwhile, other forms of work were noteworthy, including a particularly delightful use of camera obscura using the vistas from the top of the 'squirly metal building'. Being so put off by the quality of painting in general, I neglected to note the artist's name and really didn't pay much attention to the rest of the show. Rule later assured me that Matthew Lake's shed construction with video and someone else's re-edited version of 'Vertigo' were of a fine calibre.

Lunch was had on the East London line between New Cross Gate and Canada Water, and included a cheese/bacon slice from Sainsbury's, later polished off with a Cornflake Cluster.

Oddly, I'd not been to the RCA before Saturday, so it was a fine treat. Tainted by the disaster of Goldsmith's Fine Art, our mindsets were somewhat negative and it wasn't until later that we realised that some of the work was particularly superb. Rule noted this realisation on the train home, whilst I have only just considered it.

James Ryan's paintings were sufficiently irregular and sombre for my liking, suggesting a landscape slipping into industry, or something similar, and were slightly reminiscent of Callum Innes's work. Simon Cunningham's 'Duck/Rabbit' stands out as a particular highlight, alongside Adam James's decision to condense a passage from the bible, using Microsoft Word's Auto Summarise feature, to two pages of the word 'Lord' repeated incessantly, and Thomas Smith's video of singing pilots. All three artists engender a comic yet gravely sincere and, I suppose, satirical atmosphere. These may well be my favourite qualities to find in an exhibition because they're genuine. There is nothing that is pure; just combinations of factors. In other words, Relational Aesthetics.

Intention

The intention is that paintings are an extension of my outlook, as it may be at the time or as it develops over a period of time. That work seems to be 'inert' is an inviting idea. The structures are large, yet manageable, imposing upon certain spaces, but never aggressive. They exist with very little purpose except that someone desires their existence. They develop as children, if somewhat wooden, or perhaps as trees described like sentient beings in a fairy tale, for instance. Starting as pieces of pre-cut timber, then combined together and slowly acquiring layers of paint and varnish and growing over an extended period of time. Grouping together as a family, or families.

Continued Construction

Quite recently I have continued construction to arrive at a stage where I can begin to reconsider the process of painting. Since previously constructing the support for 163 (shown above on the right) I have managed to put together to a similar stage the beginnings of a work called 162 (shown above left). It will consist of a pillow set into the support and surrounded by layers of off-white/yellow varnish. My pillows tend to go slightly yellow with time. I'm not sure if this is usual or just due to grease and guff rubbing off of my head. The work will look like a bed, I assume, when finished and I'm treating it as a doorway to a space less tangible than a room. I'm trying to consider and assess what happens when the work is moved from the horizontal to vertical, and decide whether it might be important. This is a regular consideration whilst I often paint when the work is flat on the ground. I find myself lacking the appropriate language, theory and group dynamic to be able to make confident choices on such matters, and wonder whether this will lend some element of vulnerability to the work, which would seem useful or appropriate, or essentially lead it to become weak and pointless. I'm happy to rely on the language of painting and process previously explored, and continue to engage with a sense of the repetitive. The repetition brings comfort, which may eventually lead to confidence. At some point, at a juncture lending itself to stagnation, I will read back over some old journals and sketchbooks to gain a perspective on my journey to this point. As I recall, it involved much repeated changing of opinions and so far seems to continue.