Inner space

A talk by Rose Wylie took me back to the ICA, a place I used to go to a lot, especially for lunch with friends, but haven't visited for years. The talk was held in a place I didn't know existed - The Studio - down a concrete corridor and up narrow stairs. During the talk I spent some time wondering about the painting of these pipes, needing a closer look -

The walls hold layers of history. Founded in 1946, the ICA made its way to its current premises in 1968, and during the 1970s was known for its often anarchic programme and administration. This studio space was squatted in the 1970s by an anarchist group, and the director, Norman Rosenthal, was assaulted - such that a bloodstain on the wall of the admin offices is preserved behind plexiglass, with a note reading "This is Norman's blood."

On the staircase - 1970s anarchist grafitti?

Basquiat exhibited at the ICA in 1984, and the story goes that this "palette" also on the stairway is by him -

The Studio itself seems to be a multipurpose room, with areas for storage -

The sign on the door reads, rather ominously, "Judging Area" ... who knows where that door leads ...

More artistic pipes at the top of the stairs -

And at the bottom, framed like a work of art, a switch box -

Rummaging - and rediscovering

As it was too early to use the sewing machine (there's a neighbour's bedroom directly below my shaky sewing table), I attacked another drawer full of fabric. And what discoveries - some from last century, some from recent workshops. These will definitely not be made into bookwraps. A later fate awaits them.

Starch resist samples - we rubbed in acrylic paint after the starch had dried

Little flower pictures (to be used for greetings cards?)

Screen printed, using flowers from the window-box as resist

A good project on car journeys, the stitching anyway -
the colour is acrylic paint, diluted to permeate
 or used drier on the exposed surface

The wax is still in this batik, made in a workshop with Carole Waller,
and I later started adding stitching for overdying shibori-style

Exuberant - but off kilter! This started as different ways of
attaching 3D objects (coins and shells, especially)

Painted satiny and cotton fabric, circa 1994

More of the same, with some print from a workshop with Liz Nillson
round about the same time

Hexagons printed onto turban cotton with erasers, 2008
(half a hexagon fits on a rectangular block). This
led to some 12" square quilts (here and here)

Some of the fabric made in Bob Adams' "Disgraceful Discharge" workshop, 2008
(see him talk about his exhibition at FOQ that year here)

These all bring back a lot of memories, some from pre-blogging days. I have something in mind for the blue satiny fabrics, and quickly dug around for some fabric to go with the fern prints, with a vague idea of cutting and piecing -

but really what I'd like to do with those discharged fabrics is to hand stitch on them ... somehow...

Something to mull over, think about, keep eyes (and mind) open for, and return to.

Poetry Thursday - Thomas Gray, Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat...

See more of William Blake's illustrations to the poem here.

Ode on the Death of a Favorite Cat Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes

’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dy’d
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclin’d,
Gaz’d on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar’d;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw, and purr’d applause.

Still had she gaz’d; but midst the tide
Two beauteous forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream;
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue,
Through richest purple, to the view,
Betray’d a golden gleam.

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretch’d, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?

Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch’d, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulph between;
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smil’d.)
The slippery verge her feet beguil’d;
She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew’d to every watery God,
Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stir’d:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A favourite has no friend.

From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv’d,
Know, one false step is ne’er retriev’d,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all, that glisters, gold.

Found here, where you'll also get a bit of background to the poem.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771) was launched into literary fame by the publication of Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard in 1751. He was the only one of 12 children to survive infancy, and was a delicate and scholarly boy. He went on the Grand Tour with his friend from Eton, Horace Walpole, but they fell out and parted in Tuscany. Living in Cambridge, Gray set out on his own programme of literary study, and became a fellow of two colleges (in succession). Though he published only some 1,000 lines in his lifetime, he was offered the post of Poet Laureate in 1757 - he refused it.

My connection with this poem consists of coming across it in the Fitzwilliam Museum, way back when I was working in the university engineering department, practically next door, and would often spend my lunch hour in the museum. It was in one of the cases of manuscripts, and was something I vaguely remembered reading at school. "A favourite has no friend" is the line that stands out for me (though "What cat's averse to fish?" comes a close second). Back in Cambridge, reading the poem in Gray's handwriting, my young self felt very connected to this poet, but only now have I learned anything about his life.

Wandering on Cork Street

The Cork Street area has long been one of the main concentrations of commercial galleries in London - conveniently, it's a short hop between air-conditioned venues on a warm day. You never know what you might come across...

We started at Stephen Friedman, which had Jiro Takematsu's minimalist work

work by Jiro Takematsu (1936-1998)

then went "up the road" to Hauser & Wirth, which was showing two (more) artists new to me - Takesada Matsutani, who was part of the Japanese Gutai movement in the 1960s, and Subodh Gupta, who lives and works in New Delhi and makes installations of everyday objects.

In the background, Takesada Matsutani's "Stream-10",
10 metres of graphite, with turpentine thrown on the end (via)

Subodh Gupta's "titanic boat" (via)

Intrigued by a print in the window of Rossi & Rossi, we were less impressed with Ma Desheng's large paintings of rocks and nudes, and surprised to see the artist - and his interpreter - in the gallery, having seen him talking about his work on a video with French subtitles. He was born in Beijing and part of the Star group (Ai Wei Wei was another member), but now lives in Paris.

Prints by Ma Desheng (via)

Alan Cristea had a selection not only of Matisse prints (and Christiane Baumgartner woodcuts, and Vicken Parsons small paintings) but five works from Picasso's 347 Series - made in just seven months; in the etchings, he really pushed the sugar lift process -

An African Art gallery has sprung up -  looking up Wosene Worke Kosrof, I wish we'd gone in. Kosrof was born in Ethiopia and uses the calligraphic elements of Amharic script in his paintings.

works by Wosene Worke Kosrof

Leon Underwood (1890-1975) has been called "the precursor of modern sculpture in Britain" - of his paintings and prints, I enjoyed the linocuts and woodcuts' use of colour -

Leon Underwood, "Charro meets charro"

He used African themes and Mexican scenes, and one of his watercolours was in the RA Mexico exhibition, though I didn't really notice it at the time.

High spot of the tour was the Robert Motherwell collages -

 among which my favourite was the one with intricate shades of red -

Robert Motherwell, "The Redness of Red"

One topic of discussion was the usefulness of frames - being put in a frame can make something that otherwise looks "ordinary" or even neglibible into an Art Statement -

Jiro Takematsu, "Tape" (via)

Don't forget the signature, either.

On my way to the tube I stopped in at Marlborough to see the Kitaj prints (ends 27 July). Usually reflections make it impossible to photograph work that is under glass, but the lighting in the gallery and reflections from the street rather enhance this one -

 Upstairs, the Contemporary section was filled by installation -

"More than I dare to think about" opens 25 July

Art on the Underground (Piccadilly Circus station)

On our way to the Mexico exhibition, we came across this clever reconstruction of the now-iconic Tube map -

 The year of the original was 1933, and some lines were yet to be built -

 But some stations in use then are no longer in use - British Museum, Strand, and most recently Aldwych (see photos of them, then and now, here) -

 For comparison, a detail of Harry Beck's map (from here) -

The Tube map is actually a diagram, as it ignores the important Western convention of mapping that requires accurate distances between points. But you knew that. What is more surprising is the graphic uses it has been put to - determining life expectancy of children born near each station, and showing that house prices rise by £150,000 a minute as you journey into the centre of town are two I've come across recently. A thorough search would no doubt reveal even greater inventiveness.

Also at Piccadilly Circus station, a display of work by Jacqueline Poncelet -

Originally a ceramicist, she has a passion for pattern and colour, and is bringing that into architecture, printing patterns onto metal and dressing buildings with them, for instance Wrapper above Edgware Road tube station -

Red dots with attitude

Seen at the RA Summer Show - an original art work (painting? sculpture?), referencing (somewhat slyly?) the "cheap and cheerful" large-edition print - many sales, many red dots.

Nice to see it has a red dot of its own.

Wraps from scraps

Something from nothing - these bookwraps are made from the offcut edges of various journal quilts, of which I seem to have quite a collection (still...). The edges of the quilted pieces have been cut straight, butted, and joined with satin stitch. Some are rather narrow, kept and used because I like the colours and/or fabrics in them, but really, for best effect, pieces should be at least 3/4" wide! 

These "scraps" are leftovers from the large piece in my 2003 "River" exhibition -

 And this collection, looking rather duller than the clear (strident?) colours of the fabric, were cut off from some Ikea curtains and sturdily quilted -

An ethical sort of question arises - is it "done" to use scraps for what is essentially a gift to another (unknown) person? Some people who might win one of these in the tombola will be disappointed to see that their prize is made of "rags" or "unwanted bits" or "leftovers",  but for others it will appeal because it shows what can be done with a bit of imagination (and effort). Personally, I feel that negligible or overlooked things, scraps left behind, have something to offer, because they already have a history and are going on to a new life.

In real life, on a book, the scrappy wraps have a certain charm - part of which comes from the act of being held in the hand and imparting their feel. You'll have to use your imagination on that, but for starters, cover up half the photo, so that you see the wrap like it will look when on a book...

Anyway, I'm having fun with these. My stash is dwindling, the ufos are moving on to a new life.

(Friday update - this post is now part of "Off the Wall Friday" at http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.co.uk/)

Gunpowder cake

Why it's called gunpowder cake, I don't know. The recipe comes from a book that seems to have disappeared from my shelves, published by the Royal College of Art sometime last century, with contributions from various staff members - not just recipes, but drawing to go with them. (Used copies are obtainable for a pittance (plus postage; it was published in 1987, before recipes went into grams etc.)

Instead of eggs, this wartime recipe uses vinegar (and baking soda) as a raising agent. We find that, rather than icing, whipped cream is the best filling and topping. Though a whipped cream filling and a chocolate glaze is nice too.

My copy of the recipe has been much annotated, to fit various pan sizes, so much so that I can no longer make sense of it!

Let's start with the original recipe, converted to metric. If you are using plain flour, add 5ml (a teaspoon) of baking powder for every 100g flour. If you've run out of cocoa but happen to have some drinking chocolate on hand, substitute it for the sugar and cocoa - just add up the grams of the two ingredients.

First, heat the oven to 190C, 375F, gas 5. Butter the baking tin(s) - I usually flour them too.

Gunpowder Cake - for 8" round pan (20cm)

Sieve into bowl:
160g self-raising flour (1-1/2 cups)
125g sugar (1 cup)
30g (2 Tbsp) cocoa 
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda (baking soda)
Melt 150g butter (or use spreadable butter) (5 ounces)
Add to bowl with
2 Tbsp vinegar
250ml warm water (1 cup)
splash vanilla
Mix. Put in well-greased tin. Bake at 190C (375F) for 40 mins, till cake pulls away from the edges of the pan and springs back when touched lightly.


For an 8" (20cm) square pan, or two 7" (18cm) tins [a very British size], use 1-1/2 times the recipe -

Sieve into bowl:
210g self-raising flour
125g sugar [we like it less sweet]
45g (3 Tbsp) cocoa
1-1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda (baking soda)
Melt 225g butter (or use spreadable butter)
Add to bowl with
3 Tbsp vinegar
340ml warm water (1-1/2 cups)
splash vanilla
Mix. Put in well-greased tin. Bake at 190C (375F) for 40 mins, till cake pulls away from the edges of the pan and springs back when touched lightly.


Following the second recipe, baked in two 8" layer tins, this was the result -

I was alarmed by how thin the dough was, and unfortunately adding the liquid ingredients to the dry ingredients resulted in a lot of lumps. By the time I'd sorted those out, the fizzing reaction had stopped, and the layers came out of the oven rather flat. But it was airy and tender nonetheless - and delicious.

So I suggest you add the liquid gradually.

Ways into abstract painting - day 5

Final day of the course, and we're working on our own projects.

(Some of the colours in the photos are strange, despite attempts to correct them in photoshop - the camera sees the light, and combinations of different kinds of light, in a way that our brains compensate for!)

As part of the "mulling" process for the project, I researched and collected the images in the Blackberrying poem - the colour and shapes of "high meadows glowing as if lit from within", what an orange north face of a hill might look like, that sort of thing -

Not sure where this idea of using the colours from the poem would lead ... so, feeling fed up with the greens I'd done the previous day, I started anew. Vaguely thinking of putting all the colours in one place, I totally lost sight that this might end up as a picture, whereas this is a course on - abstraction -

 "What are you going to do with the white?" What better time to add a wash in the background, than now -- so on went a nice contrasty orange colour -

While that was drying, I went back to those green swoops I'd prepared earlier - with a view to using what had already been done for two "pages" of a book idea that was forming.

There was room for two more pages top and bottom on that sheet, so on the bottom I added a wash

 and into the wet, the "red-blue juices ... squandered on my fingers" -

I'm using a palette knife rather than a brush - love the unexpected things that happen. This is supposed to be primarily about the colours mentioned in the poem ... but I find myself in a dangerous territory between abstraction and re-imagination ...

While the red-blue juices dry, and because it's nearly lunchtime, a bit of practice with the bird shapes, from my reference material -

Finding some bits of tracing paper, I thought to have the birds literally as "burnt bits of paper", knowing the wet paper would curl ... but quickly abandoned that idea as too bulky, impractical.

Immediately after lunch I cut up the "green" sheet into four strips, and made some more strips - for the "sea of white and pewter lights", the "chinese screen of flies" on the ripe bush, the "blown sky" with the cacophonous coughs -

The lane with "nothing but blackberries" got painted too - in a dreadful rush - but I forgot to photograph it. Ditto the orange face of the hills. Didn't have a chance to add words, as I'd wanted - it was time to put the work up on the wall. 

I got the idea that, as it was a book, it needed a title ... and then wished I hadn't, this is meant to be about abstraction not illustration ... but it all came right in the end because there was just enough time to read out the poem, after which people said it all made more sense. (There was a suggestion I should make it into an "audio book" ... hmm ...)

The orange hill has already been edited out, and the rest needs cropping a bit. And some words need adding. Or maybe it's a matter of starting over, more thoughtfully - though I feel it was the rush to "get it all done" that led to unexpected results and discoveries.

And now a look round the room, stripped as far as possible of its visual clutter, at the other work produced in the class. Many ideas, various levels of experience, each an individual voice -

Note the importance of cropping, and the role of framing/matting in displaying the work to best advantage. 

What do I take forward from this course? I enjoyed mixing the colours - with considerable brio, as time ran out - and sort of know what comprises abstraction, though my own project veered away from that. I loved using the palette knife, and applying colour with fingers and cloth - anything, in fact, rather than a brush ... there's something unlovely, ungainly about my brush strokes ...

Busy few days coming up, so I hope that when I have time to make the book (drum leaf binding?) I won't be too far away from that feeling about it that I had in the class - in other words, will it ever get finished, given the intervening time?

This course runs regularly at City Lit - I'd quite like to repeat it one day, one day a week for 10 weeks.

Oh, that one with the orange wash - while the "book pages" were drying, I wiped off the "dripping blood", added a few swipes with the palette knife, and cropped off the bottom -

No great shakes - useful for painting something else on top of it.