Tag Archives: national Portrait Gallery

Raiders of the Lost Art: the singular MuBild exhibition of Frith Powell

2 Nov
FP painting

“Playing Field of a Circular Argument”, by Frith Powell

I saw two art exhibitions at the weekend: the magnificent collection of 50 Cézanne portraits and self-portraits at the National Portrait Gallery, and an astonishing retrospective of the work of Oxford-based artist Frith Powell.

Cézanne was termed “the father of us all” by Matisse and Picasso, yet he was at first ridiculed by art critics and achieved recognition only later in life. Though he first submitted work to the Paris Salon in 1863, the first (and last) of his paintings was not accepted until 19 years later.

It made me wonder how many great artists are currently hiding in plain sight, unheralded by their contemporaries.

Later this weekend, I got my answer. One, at least, is living in Oxford.

Stepping into the Barn Gallery at St John’s College, one feels something akin to what those Victorian explorers hacking through the jungle must have felt when the undergrowth suddenly gave way to a lost civilisation. Frith Powell’s major exhibition, “The MuBild of Arte Normale and the Singular Apprenticeship of Fabio Penitenti”, is not just an extraordinary body of work, previously unseen. It feels like a whole new lost branch of art.

DSC_0638

“MuBild” translates as “nothing art”: “Mu” being Japanese for “nothing”, with “Bild” German for “art”. The term “Arte Normale” stems from a meeting in the ‘90s between the artist and Time Out’s then Art Editor, Sarah Kent, which in fact I helped engineer. Frith Powell says that Sarah looked at his paintings nonplussed, saying that this was not “normal abstraction”.

Indeed it’s not. This “nothing art” is like nothing else. It’s an attempt to make abstraction real: to give symbols and figures from Frith Powell’s id solidity and form, in an alternative language whose rules and syntax seem all clearly thought out but are tantalisingly not quite divinable to the outsider. The connection is made overt with a horned symbol that recurs in many paintings, but which Frith Powell has also given physical form in white marble. The sculpture is exquisite, a thing of beauty and mystery, alternately suggesting devil’s horns, a crown, or a plucked tooth.

Frith Powell himself says that “the essential challenge for me, as an abstract painter, is in creating what could be called a ‘fiction of reality’, something that looks as though it might be real, at first sight, or is at least highly suggestive of reality, but on closer examination is seen to be unrecognisable. Other.”

FP Beckley view

“View from the Common Road, Beckley” by Frith Powell

Though the paintings vary in style and medium, having been created over several decades, the whole is astonishingly coherent. Only one work stands out like a sore thumb: “View from the Common Road, Beckley” is a detailed landscape in pen and ink, the perspective perfectly proportioned, the trees just right. One wonders if it is included as a definitive rebuke to the uncharitable viewer who might be wondering whether Frith Powell chooses abstraction only because he lacks the technical skill for representation.

And this is just one half of the exhibition. The other is “The Singular Apprenticeship of Fabio Penitenti”, which is a collection of sculptures and objects housed in glass display cabinets. The fact that this exhibition is just five minutes’ walk from Oxford’s ethnographic Pitt Rivers Museum gives it extra piquancy. These objects are like the artefacts of some lost tribe – some functional, some religious, some sexually charged.

FP woodland deities

“Woodland Deities”, by Frith Powell

The anime director Hayao Miyazaki would appreciate the series of “Woodland Deities” carved from funguses in the remote forests of Northern Scandinavia, or the twisted branches that have been turned into fantastical flutes, or the faces found in or struck from pebbles. Conversely, Frith Powell (or rather his craftsman alter-ego, Fabio Penitenti) has returned civilisation to nature with three acorns that, if you look closely, were carved from Champagne corks, or spiralling Christmas trees fashioned from tin lids.

Also striking (and very funny; much of the exhibition is playful and raises a smile) are a gigantic spoon carved from a massive block of wood, that has a strong whiff of Christian iconography; and the “Poet’s bird feeder hat”, with bird seed stored in its brim for anyone wanting to play St Francis of Assissi for the day.

DSC_0631

Part of the Singular Apprenticeship of Fabio Penitenti

In the interests of journalistic balance, I must declare an interest: I was at Oxford with Frith Powell’s wife Louise, also an artist, and have known the couple, on and off, for three decades. But I have seen only the odd piece until now. If I hadn’t been impressed, I would have written nothing. It is as a critic, not a friend, that I say this is an exceptional body of work, all the more astonishing for having been hidden from the light for so many years – Frith Powell is now 70.

Will art critics make the trek to Oxford? Are any editors still interested in unearthing fresh talent rather than chasing the clicks of the more established names? Perhaps not. But take my word for it. If you are in Oxford between now and November 16, do visit the Barn Gallery at St John’s College.

Remember that even Cézanne was once unknown.

Advertisements

“I’m not beautiful”: Audrey Hepburn at the National Portrait Gallery

16 Jul

Catalogue_coverIt’s telling that Audrey Hepburn, subject of a new exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery and one of the world’s most photographed and adored women, did not think of herself as beautiful.  Her son Luca Dotti said recently that the best Audrey could say about her looks was that she had “a good mixture of defects. She thought she had a big nose and big feet, and she was too skinny and not enough breast. She would look in the mirror and say, ‘I don’t understand why people see me as beautiful.’”

If even Audrey Hepburn can’t see herself as beautiful, where does that leave modern women, with another half a century behind them of commercial propaganda pushing unrealistic beauty standards? But what’s interesting about the exhibition is how Hepburn used what she had. Seeing so many portraits of her by so many of the world’s top photographers, you begin to notice a pattern. She holds her head up, to diminish her nose; elongates her neck; uses her ballet-dancer-trained poise to graceful effect.

“She was very much in control of her own image,” the exhibition’s curator, Helen Trompeteler, told me when I interviewed her for Where London magazine. “Edith Head [the celebrated Hollywood costume designer and model for The Incredibles’ Edna “E” Mode] talked of fittings with her which took hours – Hepburn knew exactly what worked for her and how she wanted to appear. She worked closely with photographers, knew what angle was best for her, saw all the contact sheets.”

Where LondonBut there’s more to it than that. Because she didn’t feel she could rely just on her looks, Hepburn always worked hard, and was, quite simply, nice to people. “Obviously she was extremely talented and beautiful,” says Trompeteler, “but she was modest about her achievements. My personal fascination with her is that in the ‘50s and ‘60s, when the roles of women were changing so dramatically, she was able to respond to that and create a distinct look for herself – that timeless Hepburn look that has so much currency today.”

Hepburn ended her days working tirelessly for disadvantaged children around the world on behalf of UNICEF, a charity which had helped her family, along with many others, in a Holland starved and ravaged by the second world war. Did the film-going public fall in love with her just for her looks, or for her personality? I think the latter.

The photographer and essayist Cecil Beaton, who later won Academy Awards for his costume designs on Gigi and My Fair Lady, attempted to convey her appeal in an article in Vogue in 1954: “She is like a portrait by Modigliani, where the various distortions are not only interesting in themselves but make a completely satisfying composite… She is a wistful child of a war-chided era, and the shadow thrown across her youth underlines even more its precious evanescence. But if she can reflect sorrow, she seems also to enjoy the happiness life provides for her with such bounty.”

Or as Cary Grant more succinctly said, after filming Charade, “All I want for Christmas is another movie with Audrey Hepburn.”