Adding to the UK’s democratic deficit

Douglas Carswell: the first MP from outside the 'Big 3'

What might politely be referred top as the UKIP ‘issue’ has been discussed on this blog before, but after last week’s momentous event, it demands attention once more.

Douglas Carswell was elected as Conservative MP for Clacton in 2010. This August just gone, he defected to UKIP, sparking a by-election, in which he was last week duly returned to Parliament – as a UKIP MP for the constituency of Clacton.

Most importantly, this made him the party’s first MP – such a staggering event that, in the days since, UKIP leader Nigel Farage has been invited to participate in next spring’s pre-election debates between the leaders of the main parties, the Conservatives, Labour and the Lib-Dems.

And all because no other party has ever achieved anything like this: no other party has ever broken through that established trio to gain even a single, solitary seat in the House of Commons.

UKIP’s win last week changes the make-up of the House of Commons out of all recognition, as revealed by this up-to-date (and obviously very brief) list with four entries in it:

Party                              MPs

Conservative                         303

Labour                                  257

Liberal Democrat                    56

Democratic Unionist                8

Scottish National                    6

Sinn Féin                               5

Independent                          3

Plaid Cymru                            3

SDLP                                    3

Alliance                                 1

Green                                   1

Respect                                1

Speaker                                1

UKIP                                     1

Vacant                                  1

Total number of seats            650

The DUP's Ian Paisley Jnr – MP

It’s hard to work out what all the excitement is about. Or, more to the point, if UKIP has produced such a revolutionary result that it deserves its place in pre-election debates, then what about other parties that also have one MP or more?

In the media Establishment’s excitement, it is blatantly favouring one ‘alternative’ party over any and all others.

There is absolutely no logical reason why UKIP should be included in pre-election debates, over and above any other party. If UKIP gets on to the debates, so should all the others.

Anything else has nothing to do with democracy and everything to do with a media Establishment that is delighted to promote one particular party and its ideology.

Once again, we see that the bulk of the mainstream UK media is not remotely interested in being part of what could be considered an honourable Fourth Estate, but simply in pushing the personal ideologies of proprietors and editors.

Sinn Féin's Michelle Gildernew – MP

Some observers are particularly upset with the BBC’s attitude in all this, harking back to some time that never existed.

The BBC may be wonderful in many, many ways, but on politics, it has always been a supporter of the status quo, from the General Strike of 1926 on, when director general Lord Reith made it clear that his idea of ‘impartiality’ in terms of newscoverage by the new broadcaster would not ‘offend’ the Establishment.

If we were really talking about the will of the people – and as discussed previously, the rise of UKIP is reflective of one reaction to a widespread disenchantment with mainstream politics in the UK – then based on the change-everything criteria of UKIP having won a single Parliamentary seat, all alternative voices should be heard.

But of course UKIP has councillors and MEPs too.

Yes: and so do other parties in that list.

The Green Party's Caroline Lucas – MP

If ever you wanted an illustration of the bias in much of the UK’s mainstream media, and of the agenda of its owners, then look no further.

The manner in which it has promoted UKIP – and ignored other alternative parties – would make Reith’s version of impartiality look like the real deal.

And good luck to the Green Party, which is considering taking legal action – if it can raise the funds – to challenge this blatant bias.

Perhaps the other parties being disenfranchised in terms of TV election coverage could join them in that endeavor. Now that might be some sort of victory for British democracy.

change.org petition to include the Green Party in any such widened debate (you can add a note that all parties should be included)

The year of Matisse

Matisse – and friend

It was in early September last year, as a chill returned to the air and the shadow of longer nights crept across the light. Just a short while after our return from the Roussillon, I found a book that promised to include a reference to Collioure.

In which case, Hilary Spurling’s Matisse the Life seemed to offer a welcome way of holding on to the light and the warmth and the colour a little longer.

Collioure merited quite a lot of mentions – enough that I learned new things – but beyond that, the book succeeded in drawing me into the work of an artist whose creative explosion in the village in 1905 had proved a seminal moment in modern art.

And from there it was but a short step to wondering where I might be able to find some of his work in London.

At which point, it’s apt to explain that Matisse and I actually go back a long way.

As a teenager studying art for A’ level, part of the course covered the history of art.

Unfortunately, in those days, I could never ‘get’ modern art – and that included Fauvism, the name given sarcastically to Matisse and his fellow artists after critics viewed the artistic result of their stay in Collioure that year.

Red Beach (1905)

Indeed, it was only within the last couple of years that I even remembered that we’d been taught about Fauvism – although beyond remembering the name of both the school and Matisse himself, I recall no other detail, which rather illustrates my point.

Picasso I ‘got’ – at least in terms of comprehending that, when you can do what he could do at 16, you’re going to have to move somewhere very different or stand still and stagnate.

At around about the same time, a school-organised visit to the National Gallery produced my first experience of some van Gogh in the ‘flesh’, blowing me away with the colour and his use of impasto to such an extent that he became an instant favourite – in spite of not being even remotely photographic.

Philosophically, my tastes were all over the place: I loved the likes of van Eyck and, in terms of more recent art, the Impressionists – but Renoir far more than Monet, the latter being too ‘modern’ in his abstraction – and that was as far as I was prepared to entertain the ‘modern’, apart from Picasso, Lowry and photo- and hyper-realism.

Portrait of Greta Moll (1908)

Indeed, it’s possible that that liking for van Eyck – specifically, a love of the Arnolfini Wedding – was essentially because I could view it as a form of early photo-realism.

There were, I suspect, many reasons for all this, but suffice it to say that, in ways I had no comprehension of at the time, it seems likely that a very traditional unbringing contributed to a mental blockage when it came to anything ‘modern’ – particularly when it was ‘experimental’ and abstract (I had the same sweeping attitude toward modern serious music too).

Anyway, fast forward again to last autumn and the search for works by Matisse in London.

Initially, that took me to the National Gallery, which claimed online to possess Portrait of Greta Moll from 1908.

But on visiting, it was nowhere to be found and nobody knew anything about it.

A week or so later, with time to spend in the Aldwych area of London late one afternoon, I decided to make a first visit to the Courtauld Gallery.

The Viaduct at Arcueil (1898-1900)

I was fully prepared to see that institution’s Impressionist works, its Cézannes, its van Goghs and its Gauguins: I was not prepared to walk into a room and suddenly see, when turning around, Matisse’s Red Beach, from 1905 – and to see it just a few short weeks after sitting on precisely that spot at Port d’Avall.

In an instant, the colours made sense – perhaps mostly because my unprepared response was an emotional one, and an emotional response to a subject was precisely what Matisse and his fellow Fauves were attempting to convey on their canvases.

After all, with cameras able to make a photographic record, why try to do the same thing in paint?

There were a couple of other Matisse works in the same room, but that first sighting was, I think, the moment at which I fell in love with his work.

In late November, visiting the Walker Gallery while in Liverpool for work, produced another unexpected spot – this time, a very early Matisse, The Viaduct at Arcueil (1898-1900), which is an excellent illustration of the subsequent impact of the light and colour of the south on this northern artist.

Luxe, Calme et Volupté, (1904)

And right at the end of the year, the mystery of the missing Portrait of Greta Moll was finally solved when we walked into a room at the Tate Modern to see it hanging there, on loan from the National, presumably.

As for 2014, it brought with it the news that the spring and summer Tate Modern blockbuster was due to be Henri Matisse: The Cut-Outs, covering the late works.

It  seemed to be an astonishing piece of good fortune to have such a major exhibition close at hand so very soon after starting to really appreciate the artist, and it proved to be close to a spiritual experience and one that had its own arty ramification, of which more later.

In the meantime, July’s trip to Paris afforded further Matisse moments.

Port d'Avall (1905)

First, the long-awaited visit to the Orsay saw another of those occasions of walking into a room to find an unexpected pleasure – this time, Luxe, Calme et Volupté from the year before Collioure.

Matisse, having moved from Fauvism to what was known as Divisionism, was already moving on again. But in a small side gallery, with few people around, the opportunity existed to really take in this beautiful canvas, both from distance and then up close to examine the brush work.

Like so much art, reproductions – no matter how good – don’t do justice to the actual work.

The Snail (1953)

The week also produced a number of gems in the Pompidou, and then further works – albeit it from the ‘difficult’ Nice period – at the Orangerie.

But when you’re really getting to grips with the lifelong work of a particular artist, it’s as valuable to see some of the less-successful works as it is to see the iconic pieces.

It was after Paris, though, that I decided to take out a Tate membership – with the initial intention simply being to revisit the cut-outs. Indeed, I returned for a third visit in late August.

And for all that each visit gave me something new – and I felt something like pain knowing that it would not be in London for much longer – it is with forehead-slapping irritation that I only now realise that, in standing so far back from this vast piece, I’d failed to spot the detail, in the top left corner, of the tiny snail cut into the paper.

Then September arrived and it was back once more to Collioure, where the reproductions hung around the village made more sense than before.

Taking a look around the new headquarters of the Fauvism Trail, with its welter of prints of the relevant works by Derain, I suddenly spotted something on the wall behind the desk and, completely ignoring the issue of whether that was out of bounds or not, dashed to see.

It was a print of a long, narrow painting from 1905: Le Port d’Avall, and for some reason, it’s not well known.

Matisse, photographed by Henri Cartier-Bresson

It’s important – and this is what saw me hasten past the woman at the desk – because it’s as much a getting-past-Divisionism piece as Luxe, Calme et Volupté.

The Collioure paintings of Matisse that are regularly see are, like Red Beach and View of Collioure, along with the famous views through open windows.

But this was different: this was a link to the previous stage in the artist’s development: the great leap forward was just around the corner.

It was the perfect way to mark the end of a year when I finally got to know Matisse and really appreciate his work.

In her book, Spurling writes: “Discussing luminosity long afterwards with his son-in-law, he [Matisse] said that a picture should have the power to generate light.”

There’s more than one work I’ve seen this past 12 months of which that is most obviously true.

And when you finally ‘get’ that, you understand just why Matisse was so good – and so important in terms of the history of art.

It has been a remarkable year of learning and understanding – and sheer joy.

Art for Collioure's sake

A child explores George Ayat's Collioure acrylics

A trip to Collioure just wouldn’t be the real thing without a substantial dose of art: it’s as integral a part of the village as are the anchovies that once provided its main source of income and employment.

Surf the internet and you’ll find various estimates for how many galleries line the charming streets – anything from 20 to 40 – this year, we even staying on Rue de la Fraternité, which boasts more galleries than any other single thoroughfare.

But even numbering the galleries accurately does not paint the full picture: many more artists display and sell their work from pitches along the promenade at Boromar or around the walls of the chateau, where visitors wind their way between the Faubourg and the Mouré, past the clear, turquoise waters.

Le filet du lamparo à Collioure by Willy Mucha

After two years of really excellent special summer exhibitions, the village’s Musée d’Art Moderne this year staged a much smaller temporary exhibit, together with offering the opportunity to view its standing collection.

Various series of geometric, abstract works by Jaume Rocamora, including Suite Collioure (2013-14) and Intervalles imbriqués (1996) are certainly interesting.

And the same can be said of George Ayats’s series of bold acrylic on canvas abstracts that are collectively titled Collioure, and which use a palette that is reminiscent of those used by Survage and Pignon in their Collioure paintings that formed the basis of those previous exhibitions.

But the standing collection is fascinating, as it concentrates completely on how a number of artists have chosen to paint this artistically iconic village since the early part of the 20th century.

Fort Mirador by Lucien Coutard

Sadly, there is nothing by that man, Matisse, but he is always in the back of your mind as you wander around the cool, white rooms.

Jean Peské’s pastel, Côte rocheuse (undated), has lovely textures and colours, while Augustin Hanicotte’s Les voiles blanches (1930) is another chance to see some fine pastel work.

Willy Mucha’s Le filet du lamparo à Collioure (oil on canvas, 1942-44) abstracts the subject in a way that seems to suggest the chaos and carnage of war amid the fishing boats.

Paysage de Collioure, by Henri Marre

Henri de Maistre’s Collioure, vue general (1941) is a very nice rendering in oil of the view from Port d’Avall, while Lucien Coutard’s 1945 gouache and watercolour on paper of Fort Mirador is a super piece of work.

The exhibits – at least given our direction of travel – concluded with Barques à Collioure (graphite on paper, 1931) and Vue de Collioure (watercolour on wood, 1929) by Survage, both of which are perfectly sound, but neither of which have the power or the inventive spark of the paintings we saw in the solo exhibition of his Collioure works in 2012.

But before that came Henri Marre’s Paysage de Collioure, a beautiful oil on canvas from 1915, painted a full decade after Matisse’s View of Collioure from the iconic year of 1905, taking the same view and treating it, if fluidly, still rather more conventionally.

View of Collioure, by Matisse

Indeed, this is, in many ways, what all these artists are measured against – the artistic explosion that was to be dubbed ‘Fauvism’.

And while most settle for considerably more conventional approaches than Matisse, Derain and Dufy, it’s perhaps indicative of the village’s incredible beauty and charm – and yes, its very special light – that these stand as a genuinely interesting and worthwhile collection of works by ‘lesser’ painters.

In the holiday season, a walk around the village – whose walls are peppered with nearly two dozen reproductions of the Collioure works of Matisse and Derain – provides quick confirmation of the fact that seeking a language to convey the immediate area has not ceased, and that not all paintings or painters are equal.

Vue de Collioure, by Survage

Some of the efforts also convey a lesson: simply applying vivid colours to a canvas will not make you into the next Matisse. Or put it another way: no, your five year old could not do this.

Among the most successful artists at conveying the village are Barry Blend (of whom much more here) and Jean-Philip Roch, who, entirely coincidentally, has a gallery slap bang next to Barry’s on the Rue de la Fraternité.

It’s a joyful style, which includes some very interesting artistic decisions – not least leaving out some trees in order to properly convey the terraces where the grapes grow in some pictures.

That self-defined Catalan, Picasso, wanted to live in the village in the 1950s, but with no house big enough for that megastar of modern art, the local council demurred at letting him have part of the chateau. A little short-sighted, perhaps?

Collioure view by Jean-Philip Roch

And even today, while this year’s bright, new headquarters for the Fauvism Trail is a huge improvement on its predecessor, one senses they could still make more of the connection.

For instance, if a fine art gallery in London can sell licensed lithographs of works by Matisse, then why not here, of all places?

But perhaps the rather low-key commercialism is part of the charm.

“No sky is bluer than Collioure’s,” stated Matisse.

And whether Collioure can – or would want to – exploit the connection more or not, it remains the case that this almost impossibly beautiful village draws those who want to try to capture its glories.

It’s difficult to imagine that ending any time soon. After all, Collioure without art would be like fish without chips. Or a pissaladière without anchovies.