 |
| Birds Making Nests, 2014 |
Bermondsey
has – perhaps more than most – seen the cycles of fashion come and go in its
time.
In
the 17th century, after the Great Fire of London, it became home to the
well-to-do.
But
within 200 years, it had turned into a notorious slum, home to industries that
were deemed too noisy for the City, immigrants and parts of the docks – with
areas immortalised in Dickens’s Oliver Twist.
Not
just noisy, but smelly too: Bermondsey Street still retains plenty of
references to tanning, alongside some surprisingly impressive old buildings.
Yet
now the area has come full circle, back to an era of gentrification, and the
street itself is part of Bermondsey’s ‘antique mile’, which includes a number
of upmarket galleries.
Indeed,
Eames Fine Art, where I was headed on Wednesday evening, is so upmarket as to
be able to offer works for sale by the likes of Matisse and Picasso.
The
Other Half, on hearing this, had a remarkably simple message for me: “Do. Not.
Buy. Anything.”
I
was going in that direction for a very specific reason: the opening of a new
exhibition of works on paper by Anita Klein, an Australian-born painter and
printmaker who now lives and works in London and Italy.
 |
| Hot Chocolate With Leila, 2010 |
Klein’s
work is fascinating: on the surface, a simple, joyous celebration of remarkably
ordinary life, but with far more behind it than that.
Much
of it is deeply personal in its portrayal of home and the domestic life, from a
picture of her watching her partner making bread, to one of her sitting on a
sofa with her daughter, both of them nursing large bowls of hot chocolate.
Her
women are, if not downright voluptuous, then certainly normal (whatever that
means). There are no fantastical supermodels here; no sense of guilt about the
body or about simple pleasures.
And
in I Paint My Toenails, she uses an exaggerated perspective to show just how
darned awkward – and funny – that act can be when you actually have a normal
body.
Oh
yes, there’s a gentle – and endearingly self-deprecating – humour here too.
Indeed, in he work in general, she celebrates the human body – including her own. It’s wonderfully affirming and positive.
Klein trained at the Slade, and she’s technically superb in a range of mediums.
Texturally,
the linocuts are particularly interesting, often creating a decorative
background that also gives movement to the works.
 |
| A Cup of Tea, 2014 |
And
this is particularly successful in Rain (2014), where the technique works
on a further level.
Unusually
for an exhibition of this sort, there are works dating back to the mid-1980s,
which gives us a wonderful – and rare – opportunity to see how much the art of
a very-much-alive artist has developed.
There
are also signs of an inner life here: for instance, The Birds Wake Me Up, a drypoint etching
from 2008, has birds flying above her and partner Nige, who remains sleeping
while she wakes.
It’s
a beautiful way to convey the impact of the birds. And like her work in general, it has real charm.
Indeed,
in various works, she seems to be communicating with a bird or embracing nature
via trees.
Many
of her more recent works clearly reflect the light and colour of Italy –
there’s a vibrance here that matches perfectly with her work.
I
noted some time ago that Klein’s style could be said to be cloisonnism, but she explained that
what really influences her is the Italian Renaissance, with it’s flat
backgrounds and lack of perspective.
What
she produces from that is varied and modern, but at the same time, rooting her
work in centuries of art.
 |
| Nige Gets in My Bath, 2011 |
However,
for all its apparent gentleness, there is an ambiguity to Klein’s work that
gives it a great deal more sophistication.
In
many of the works, she breaks through the fourth wall, with her central
character – herself, in effect – casting a glance beyond the canvas: at the
viewer; even at the artist herself.
The
looks are not quite as directly as Manet’s Olympia, but nonetheless the
looks are there – and it was the directness of the gaze that, in part, caused
the notoriety of that work and also of the same artist’s Le Déjeuner sur
l’herbe.
So
particularly in a work such as Nige Gets Into My Bath (2001, acrylic on
paper), where she is looking over her partner’s shoulder toward us, then for
all the domesticity and the humour, it begs a question about the intimacy of
the subject and whether we have become a voyeur.
It’s
precisely the sort of complexity that rewards looking at – and then looking at
again.
Going
further: viewing art is part of the creative process – whether the art is
musical or literary or theatrical or visual.
 |
| Nest on the balcony, 2013 |
Every
single person who views a work of art sees it through the prism of their own
life; of their own experience; of their own beliefs.
So
looking at some of these works, are we also seeing a comment on the invasions
of privacy of those who root in bins and hide behind hedges with long lenses in
order to pimp the lives of others?
But
whatever you see – or however you interpret it – far from being simplistic,
Klein’s co-opting of us into her realm offers us the opportunity to ask
philosophically both about the power of the human gaze, and our relationship
with the art that we look on.
If
you’re in London, this is well worth a visit – and take the time to go around
this small gallery at least twice.
Oh – and the area’s well worth a look too.
Anita
Klein: works on paper, is at Eames Fine Art until 31 August.
No comments:
Post a Comment