Tracey Emin - Second Life

A fabulously sunny day and I head indoors for the exhibition of the year, maybe. If you don't love Tracey, then you'll disagree I'm sure. I, however, find her painting, especially, incredibly moving as expression of women's pain. We all have it in various forms, and here it is writ and coloured large.

It was good to see the blankets, neons and iconic bed and the paintings again, and some new things - the bleeding stoma self-portrait photographs are very hard to look at. By this point in the exhibition I was overwhelmed and crying. I had to sit down and rest.

Although there is a lot to see, you don't need to read every piece of paper as it's all in the catalogue. Of course, you 'll have to acquire that. And you'll have seen the films before. Still they draw a crowd. 

I'd have liked much, much more to look at. More sculpture beyond the maquettes and one large one - there's one outside also, which small children were busy climbing all over as, Easter holidays and what else is it there for? I'd have appreciated her lockdown watercolours, more birds, neons and embroideries. The show could easily have been twice the size, and why not? I am greedy. More, more, more, please like the insomnia photos, the paintings of her Mum and, and.

One thing I can't quite understand is why you would bring children to this exhibition. Far too many awkward questions to be answered. I'm not sure I'd want to handle that until they were teenagers. But hithee and soon.

Cosmos at the RWA

The new group show at the RWA opened last weekend to explore the intersection between art and science in relation to all things spacey. There were some lovely pieces and, of course, some that didn't float my spacecraft. That is to be expected. 

I admired the slice of the moon's in glittering silver and the speculative planetary surfaces in textured paper. 

It was good to be reminded in a series of photographs about the Jaipur Observatory, which I visited almost forty years ago. And I was intrigued, as always, by Cornelia Parker's meteorite burnt maps, as much as looking at a large chunk of said rock.

Less exciting were renderings of Nasa photographs, whereas the closely observed 19th C pastel of the moon from the Royal Astronomical Society was an exemplar of both scientific measurement and artistry. 

Prints of nebulas too held my gaze for a long while. And, being a sucker for ceramics, I really wanted to tuck one the moon jars under my arm.

It's on for several months, so don't be phased, but do pop along. 

Helios redux

Swimming under the sun. 

It was too tempting to miss;  a special moment getting up close and under the heat of Luke Jerram's Helios, currently suspended over the Jubilee Pool in Knowle.

 Installed as a fund raiser for the desperately needed new roof, late night swimming sessions for limited numbers of the curious are a fantastic experience. 

It was on the one hand serene when folk were quiet enough to enable the accompanying music to be heard, and on the other an exuberance of joy. 

I enjoyed my half hour greatly, but could have done without the gale blowing on the hilltop as we made our way home at midnight. 

Luke Jerram - Helios

Just opened in Bristol Cathedral, the monumental Helios by Luke Jerram is a mesmerising work, with a tiny earth nearby to give you a sense of the scale of the sun.

 It's on for the whole of October and is well worth ducking indoors for if you are passing, or even if you have to take a special trip, as the Cathedral itself, and it's commendable and important work on the slave trade counter-narrative is time well spent. Sit and wonder. You'll be glad you did.

Led by Donkeys Pop Up

Last weekend Bristol had a UK first - a pop up art exhibition by Led by Donkeys, the artivision group responsible for some of the country's most stunning political interventions in recent years, all aimed at calling government(s) to account. 

Think painting the road outside the Russian Embassy with the colours of the Ukrainian flag (right), or all those poster sized tweets throwing politicians quotes back at them, or the projections on the White Cliffs of Dover and so on. The most important of these in my view is the Covid Memorial Wall opposite the Houses of Parliament. 

In a tiny gallery at Midland Road and the rest of which building is usually an Airbnb, the three day event attracted quite a crowd. We queued for over an hour to get in, but it was a good natured wait and was worth it to see the huge Tufton Street plaque up close and personal. Photographs adorned the walls, along with the more recent Truss lettuce poster (left). In the basement the film of children' clothes on a beach (Gaza memorial) was hard to access, but very moving once down there. 

Art it probably isn't, but witty, whilst being clever and serious in intent is most certainly is. The recently published book of the same documents it all for posterity and now has pride of place on my coffee table. Thanks guys, it was an enjoyable afternoon laughing, once again, at the heinous politics of the last decade or so. 

Forgotten Bristol - The Piper Windows

In All Saints on Pembroke Road, my parish church were I of a religious inclination, all the windows of the restored church are by John Piper. But first a little on the 1868 building, erected at the same time as my house when this part of Clifton was developed from fields. The architect was G.E. Street - you'll know his work if you've ever walked on the Strand past the Royal Courts of Justice. All went well until the Luftwaffe turned their attentions to Bristol. They did that a lot, it being a major port and having much aircraft industry. More of this in almost ever future Bristol post, no doubt. A fire-bomb hit the church in December 1940. 

Little of it remained standing, so in the 1960s a shiny new modern church was designed incorporating parts of the old. You either love it or hate it, especially the spire, which urban myth has it was helicoptered into place. It wasn't, there are apparently photos of a crane doing the job. An integral part of commissioning the new church included Robert Potter, the architect, hiring Piper to design the windows. Piper was well-known, of course, for his war artwork depicting bomb damaged churches and other landmarks.

And they are magnificent examples of his work, encompassing all of the windows of the church, the only such which can make this boast. Plus they are not stained glass, Piper's usual medium as in Coventry Cathedral, Liverpool RC Cathedral, Eton College, the Betjeman Memorial Window at Farnborough and that for Britten in Aldeburgh, but rather fibreglass. Into these large sections of fibreglass and polyester mix Piper poured coloured resins to create designs much influenced by Chagall and Matisse. The depth of colour is stunning. Go on a sunny day and see for yourself. Even on a dull day they are impressive. And they were much cheaper than stained glass would have been for the cash strapped War Damage Commission. 

The Baptistry window is from the Book of Revelation - the tree of life and the water of life. The north and south windows depict darkness coming into light. In art historical terms they have been hailed as internationally important examples of post-war Modernism. Just a few steps from my door, who knew? Actually, I do remember seeing them a few times as a teenager.

Busy times

Busy times mean little time for this website. I am sorry, dear readers, I've been neglecting you at lot this year. My excuse is that I've been travelling - a month in Denmark - plus house selling, house hunting, doing a great number of readings all over the country for Goldhawk Road,  and finishing my PhD. So consider this a pre-New Year's resolution to do some more writing and reviewing here.

Quick tips on some current art shows while I'm at it then:

Marina Abramovic at the RA - seriously not to be missed this one. And do make sure you interact with the doorway - it was a very weird feeling squeezing into the gallery between two naked people. I can't really describe it, except that it was oddly exhilarating. 

Pity the artist is unable to do much, if anything, herself due to ill health, so it's all other performers, but the video work etc. is great. Best to see some film of her explaining the work before you go to make the most of it. There are plenty on Youtube. That or read one of her books - I enjoyed the Art/File one.

Sarah Lucas at Tate Britain - I'd give this a miss, if I were you. Early student work from decades ago is looking rather jaded and frankly, boring. Plus it's only four rooms. However, if you're there don't miss the new painting by Chris Ofili of the staircase, which is a magnificent memorial to Grenfell amongst other things. We'll be enjoying this for the next decade, I'm sure.

Anselm Kiefer at White Cube, Bermondsey

Oh, this is an astonishing show. Kiefer has filled every inch of White Cube with paintings, installations and vitrines full of objects, hand written quotes and on and on, all in response to that most complex of James Joyce's oeuvre, Finnegan's Wake. It is a wonder of debris and dust provoking comparison to some decaying museum of curiosities and the heavy smell of oil paint fills the air. 

Here are metal sunflowers, panoramas of folk and characters from Joyce. Coincidences of post war Germany (Kiefer was born in 1945) and present day Ukraine abound, or is that just me? Kiefer says debris is hope. I'm not so sure.

Most amazing is the room containing the eleven paintings of the Liffey that Kiefer invented from his childhood memories of the upper Rhine. They are marvels of trees, reflections and gold in a perpetual and perfect sunset. I stared and stared. They are a joy. Joining them is a roomful of impossible books made of lead, illegible and their pages difficult to turn. 

An inspiring homage mixed with the contents of Kiefer's studio and referencing many of his earlier pieces. No need to have read the source. Get there soon, it ends on 20 August. You really won't be disappointed.

Midlands Explorer - Wightwick Manor

Here is all the fake Jacobean architecture you could want. It's a late-Victorian creation and it fooled me, a little bit. But if you don't come here for the house and lovely gardens, with some splendid specimen trees if you are in the market for those, then your reward is the astonishing collection of Pre-Raphelite works collected by a later generation of the family in the 1930s. 

The place is awash with Burne-Jones, Rosetti, Millais, and Evelyn and William De Morgan. It's hard to know where to look first. Be prepared to take a good long time going around the house and to put up with the usual over-enthusiasm from the volunteers. 

Why is it that if you show a longer than average interest in a picture or are actually discussing it with your companion, they take that as an invitation to tell you a whole load of things you already know, and practically run across the room to do so, not caring whether they are intruding into a conversation? Beats me. Annoys me. And it happens all the time. I do wish the National Trust would remind their helpers that they are not the centre of attention and that I don't appreciate someone's arm being thrust an inch from my face.

Bof! On with the art, some of which you have to strain your neck to look at, as it is hung in exactly the place the family had it and given the don't cross this line ropes, it is sometimes out of comfortable eye reach. There is too much to choose from, so I'll take just the one portrait by Millais of Effie Gray with foxgloves. It's easy to miss in a hallway, but it is the important painting that signals their love and her bravery to get away from the cruelty of Ruskin. Fabulous.

Midlands Explorer - The Barber Institute, University of Birmingham

In purpose built Art Deco, all polished marble and clean lines, the Barber Institute of Fine Art is on the campus of Birmingham University. It's free-to-visit collection, gathered by the wealthy Barber family, ranges from Mediaeval religious paintings to the turn of the twentieth century art. Along the way there is work by Botticelli, Bruegel the Younger, Rodin, Degas, Pissarro, Van Gogh, Monet, Sickert, Magrite and on and on. 

When I say work, I mean one or possibly two examples thereof. So, yes, it's small, but it is perfectly formed and a great way to spend an afternoon sampling four hundred or so years of painting and sculpture. 

Whilst there are only four painting by women artists, one of them is an absolute jewel. Countess Golovina by Elisabeth Vigee-LeBrun is a delight of post revolutionary French portraiture. I enjoyed drinking in her smile for a good long time. 

Tracey Emin/Munch at the RA

I have waited so long to see this show - since last December when it was postponed - it was hard to believe my turn had finally come, but here we are on day two of the gallery re-openings back in the lovely quiet RA.

Small and perfectly formed, the three rooms of paintings by artists separated by a century contain exemplary work of colour and pattern chosen by Emin. 

The conversation in paint takes on more than echoing techniques though. It is the subject matter that climes: intense emotions writ large on canvas and paper, wrestling the facts of human pain. 

I was deeply moved. Hurry to book a place, as although it's been held over due to the pandemic closures - lucky that - it isn't on for long. You won't be disappointed. 

Gauguin and the Impressionists - Royal Academy

Probably the most over-promised and under-delivered exhibition I have been to in an eon. Masterworks from the Ordrupgaard collection in Denmark, were rarely masterful. It is almost as if the Danish industrialist ran around desperately buying up pictures without bothering to check whether Monet, Sisley, Pissarro and others had actually painted well. 

I was sorely disappointed by the whole, and by the fact that eight paintings by Gauguin do not an exhibition title make, nor does a room of pre-Impressionist works by Corot, Ingres etc. exactly endear me to the as advertised title. 

Be warned this is a three room show of, OK, work, but it was hard to find any truly stand out pieces to wow me. I'm a jaded viewer of this period in art. It no longer holds much of a thrill. And I hate Renoir. I should know better.

Returning to the gallery

Like every other art lover, I've been starved of the objects of my affection for five long months. I choose that verb with care; art is literally that nuturing to me, and looking a pictures and exhibition tours and even taking myself around Casa Azul interactively is absolutely no substitute for the real thing. My joy was unbounded when the galleries reopened. Yes, one has to be organised and book in advance, even as a member, but this is simple enough.

First off I went to White Cube in Bermondsey for Cerith Wyn Evans' glass sculptures. I've always loved his flutes and, as well as one of these, there are cracked windscreens and some lovely calligraphy influenced by the Japanese paintings. Free and empty of no more than half a dozen people when I went, it was one big of sigh of relief to be back.

Next the Tate opened, so I've now had time to see the Beardsley, which was only on display for a nano-second before the lock down. Again, one of the great benefits of limited numbers is that there is no straining to see the art works. Take as long as you like and people are pretty courteous at sharing the space. I spent a happy morning penis-spotting. Gone on, admit it, so will everyone who comes to this show, taking particular pleasure in the ones that missed the censoring eye of his publishers. The Salome prints are familiar, but there are a great number of other things to explore and enjoy.

And to round things off for the first fortnight, Warhol at Tate Modern, was a surprise. Just when you think you have seen every possible thing about and by Warhol, there were works that were new to me, and at least one (Marilyn's lips) that has never been exhibited in the UK before. Careful crowd control made this a very worthwhile trip. Hurrah and bravo. It is so good to be in one of my favourite places, and for it to be empty, as, if truth be told in recent years, I have found Tate Modern to be a bit of a scrum.

Becomings - an exhibition by CSM students

Teo Burki

It seems so long ago now since we were allowed to gather together to celebrate, well, anything, so before this splendid show disappears from the memory, here’s some impressions. Opening on 12 March at the A.P.T Gallery in Deptford, the private view was a well-attended affair with lots of bubbly, and sushi, that proved difficult to eat whilst practicing good CV hygiene. But, enough of the food and onto the art.

Curated by final year and some first year MA students at Central St. Martins, in what, as it turns out now, was in effect their final degree show, it was a sadly short-lived five day exhibition, but one that I am very glad I caught before virus precautions closed it. Twenty seven students showed a wide variety of work across all media from ceramic tiles, to stone carving, to painting and video.

I’m not going to comment on each person’s work, rather I want to highlight those pieces that particularly appealed to me. Art, it’s a taste thing. So, in no particular order:

Kathryn Gee (film) & Rowan Riley (textile) presented an interesting collaboration of diaphanous embroidered textile onto which a short series of images was projected. The piece was pleasingly hung in its own side room, and had the benefit of having an iron spiral staircase behind it, which serendipitously added texture to the whole. I watched the image sequence several times and enjoyed it more on each viewing.

Painting that on first encounter is precise and perfect in its dreamy realism is the stock in trade of Sizou Chen. But look closer and you’ll see the disturbing nature of the imagery of her young, if not pre-pubescent, girls; their bodies arranged in un-natural poses and some with their limbs at impossible angles. They are disruptive and deliberately challenge the viewer – why are you looking/don’t look/ see, but look away, and so on. I found myself distinctly uncomfortable, and that is the point, and more so when I watched her animations of the paintings. Unsettling with a gloss of the beautiful, and nicely done.

Another woman artist presenting sexualised images is Tijana Petrovic. Her large scale painting, a semi-naked back view self-portrait of a woman in her stockings and panties, is another deliberate provocation to which I have a conflicted feminist response. I find it troubling that a contemporary artist would paint an image that conforms tradition and in that sense plays to the expectations of the male gaze. I did not see how, if at all, this was a reclaiming of this ground; there was no defiance, no head turned staring at the viewer. Indeed the face of this woman was absent, replaced by a head full of strawberries. Surreal? Yes sure, and beautifully executed, but I guess I wanted more from it.

The part-printed canvases of Eduardo Rebelo are fine abstractions in that they are all about colour. For me they conjure the bright palette of Southern Europe and I loved their vivacity, complementarity and bold mark making. Equally vivid is the work of Teo Burki whose piece here is a riotous collage of paper and paint presenting a multiplicity of pleasing images that require work on the part of the viewer. Initially the whole is an attractive abstract, but as one moves closer and around the canvas, one is rewarded with a number of vignettes and some very balanced painting. It’s part Twombly meets Rothko meets Matisse, but is in fact none of these.

Clara Fantoni

Total abstraction comes in the unlikely form of a large plastic sheet made quite by chance as the result of it being a groundsheet for other paintings. It is the work of Clara Fantoni who has produced/found an interesting piece with both strong and subtle marks in a secondary colour palette. She has a challenge on her hands though as to how to preserve work in this ultimately flimsy material without destroying it.

K Blick is busy exploring traditional Portuguese ceramic tile making. Here she has decorated an alcove’s worth of tiles with playful images of dinosaurs and other animals in what is a patchwork of Greek myth meets Jurassic park with a crawling baby thrown in. I rather enjoyed its mysterious wit.

Sculpture came in the form of Siân Fan’s pond of perspex waterlilies, which take the representational into the digital age, as they are in part decorated with geometric shapes for their greens. I found the superimposed disruption of other leaf patterns and other flowers, and their botanical impossibility strangely pleasing. Emma Moore’s stone cutting is pleasing for its utter simplicity of line, which exposes the beauty of the natural materials she uses. Mounting the sculpture high on steel supports is an excellent choice to bring the sun to eye level. I also enjoyed the deliberately partially-made marble piece tucked against the gallery wall. Work in progress has its own merits.

Politics was represented on a large scale by Simon Hodgkinson’s bold monochrome monotype/painting, which dramatically counterpoints the catastrophic climate present with a possible greener future. I enjoyed character spotting: Attenborough as god on his central cloud, Morrison and Trump as caged dinosaurs, Greta Thunberg as superwoman, along with a cast of endangered animals, slag heaps, pit winding gear, solar panels and windmills. It is always a challenge to show polemic lightly and with subtlety, and this work succeeds in this regard as it demands close viewing to absorb the entire conceit.

One tip I would suggest it to catalogue the show in advance. It was a pity that there wasn’t time for this, as whilst the artists’ CV’s were provided in a helpful brochure, there was no clue as to the title of any of the pieces, or indeed their prices if they had been for sale. People are pretty shy about asking the cost or work, and so it might save embarrassment all round, if a price list can be produced.

As to titles, I think artists in general are missing a trick. Untitled might be a deliberate obfuscation, but I suggest it should only be a rare one. Over-used it loses its power. More likely it might be, and probably is in most cases, just a bit lazy. Titles are hard to write – tell me about it - , but done well they can add to and not detract from the art work, provide subtle or not so subtle clues to intention and meaning, and they do not necessarily close down multiple readings. I would like to have known what all of these works were called.

Sam Shepheard-Walwyn

And now for my star of the show. The outstanding painting for me is that of Samsom Shepheard-Walwyn. Only very partly influenced by Kiefer, and only in one landscape, his two other paintings were my absolute favourite pieces for different reasons. His mythical bird was a brilliant use of paint. The boldness with which he allowed white paint to run in order to suggest the birds’ feathers was genius. And the vicious dog chasing another white bird was excellently animated, teeth and all. I’d happily have taken either of these home. Bravo.

Congratulations though to everyone  - high quality work, very well displayed. It’s just a real pity that not one of the tutors turned out to support their students’ work and efforts in mounting a professional show. They could have easily awarded the degrees on the basis of this exhibition alone. From me at least: Distinctions all round.

Hidden London - The Wallace Collection

OK, so it's not exactly a secret, being slap bang in the middle of Manchester Square behind Selfridges, but what are hidden are some gems of eighteenth and nineteenth century French (Fragonard, Corbet), British (Reynolds, Van Dyck), Spanish (Velasquez) and Italian paintings, some earlier Dutch masters (Rembrandt and co), a lot of Renaissance works, and some of the auctioned off contents of Le Petit Trianon.

The best way to tackle this confection of gilt bling furniture, objets and art is to wander and let your eye fall of the beautiful things that attract you without letting the sometimes overwhelming wall paper blind you. To my shame I have never been to this fabulous free museum before and I am glad that I have now put that right at my companion's invitation.

The thing that I most wanted to bring home was a Dutch painting called The Lace Maker - no, not that one by Vermeer, but the one by Netscher. I loved her embroidered cap, red jacket and the casual way she has kicked off her shoes. I also rather fancied any one of the collection of portrait miniatures and the gold trinket boxes. Or failing those then I would settle for one of three bronze snakes coiled in their Gordian knots.

I focussed on the art, even when it was badly hung - who puts a portrait above a door frame if it is to be seen? There are some famous things here too, like the Laughing Cavalier, who is not so much guffawing as smirking rather sarcastically, and whose vertical moustache would put the nearest hipster to shame. Plus royal and court portraits by Lawrence, society ladies by Reynolds and Fragonard's The Swing were familiar and surprisingly at home.

This was a rainy Sunday treat, which is more than can be said for our afternoon tea in the courtyard cafe as we had to queue for a table for quite a while, and for the tea for even longer, uncoordinated as it was with the cake appearing and consumed long before my pot of Darjeeling. Best avoid that.

Dora Maar - Tate Modern

Oh dear - nice commerical fashion photography and one or two surreal photographs that can claim the status of iconic, but really, a whole retrospective? I think not. And probably only because of her relationship with Picasso, and that whole revising the cannon project - fine, if the art merits it, but not here. Take a look at her paintings, watercolours etc. Not good. Not at all. There was one I loved, but only because it reminded me of the diminutive Spaniard. Hey ho. On your head be it if you go.

Olafur Eliasson at Tate Modern

Summer holidays and well into the autumn, then it must be time for some block busting inter-active art. But while you are there, don't be too busy walking through the kaleidoscope, or in the cloud room of changing colours, or at the strangely disembodied fountain to take a really good look at the fancy light fittings and the brilliant photographs.

Intent on documenting the shrinking glaciers of Iceland, these should be an almost too late wake up call. I especially liked the room long miscellany wall of cuttings, articles and photographs, which shows some deep thinking on art, environmentalism and climate change. And the paintings made by melting glacier ice were intriguing.

Go, but be prepared, it's packed and there are queues for some of the rooms. And it's a little curate's eggy in places: thin wave tanks, and a candle on a circular mirror - really? My companion loved the reindeer moss wall, although I couldn't detect its scent over my own perfume.

Peak Rome

or why you should have to write an essay explaining why you need to visit the Sistine Chapel.

I'm not sure I was taken to Rome as a child. I might have been. But in any event, here I am queueing outside the Vatican Museum on a rainy May Saturday with all the other visitors from all over the world, all 30,000 of them who will enter the building today and every other day, all year long. My neighbours in the queue are good natured: the Poles who explained that they are used to Communism and know how to queue; the Brits like me who will join a queue even if they are not quite sure what it is for; and all the other patient souls. Two hours of slow shuffling and wave after wave of torrential rain for which my umbrella is totally unsuitable and my leather jacket is soaked right through and the ends of my hair are wet. My only entertainment is say 'no thanks' to all the touts tempting me to cut the line and buy an exorbitant tour of the museum.

Finally I am through the security checks and in. Now for the next hour or so of pain. There is a one way system through the museum, no backtracking, no chance to take a photo without it being bombed, no information on all the wondrous art works on display, in fact no chance to enjoy it unless you like being swept along by literally hoards of chattering people who show precious little interest in the place or its contents, and don't get me started on the tour guides with their bloody umbrellas. It's worse than the Louvre on the busiest busy day. Don't say you haven't been warned. You will suffer to see this art.

Eventually I make it to the Chapel where there are three options: stand in the middle and look up and around, wait for a seat at the side and grab it pronto; or walk on through. You can guess which I chose. I sat for an hour and more taking in every single part of Michael Angelo's wonderful ceiling, the altar piece and the amazing murals. Oh look, there's a Boticelli. It is a wonder of the world. Truly. And I was actually moved to tears. A very rare thing for me. Very rare indeed. But...

Why, oh why, do people come here if they just want to tick it off a list of sights? The number of people who spend no more than three minutes walking through the Chapel following an umbrella or, and this is worse, not even looking at it in preference to their phones is astonishing. Talk about pearls before swine. It is totally wasted on them. In fact they shouldn't be allowed. And more - why do people feel it necessary to talk so loudly? The guards have to shout out 'Silencio' every few minutes, which is pretty shocking - one is in church after all.

I tired not to let any of this poor behaviour bother me - no photos and you get shouted at if you take one (hence these are all from elsewhere in the museum) - , but in the end it was too much and I could feel my gore rising. I turned to the nice Indian couple next to me and asked them what they thought. They were in agreement: crazy people. They explained that they trying to follow the story depicted on the ceiling; their phone being used to this effect. Not having any Biblical knowledge from their Hindu upbringing, they were struggling a bit. I tired to help, but I'm not sure I was that useful to them. 

Yes, I know I should not be too snooty about this, and that everyone has the right to be here, but honestly, I do think you ought to have to explain why, and if you cannot come up with a good reason, beyond it being on your tour list, then perhaps you should leave it to those who really want to savour this treasure in all its quiet and magnificent glory.

Chihuly at Kew Gardens

 I first took note of the spectacular glass work of American, Dale Chihuly when I lived in San Jose. He had made three chandeliers for the San Jose Museum of Art. These are similar to the one in the entrance hall of the V&A. In 2002 or 2003 there was an amazing exhibition of his sea forms at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, which paired with their live jellyfish was an astonishment of beauty.

There are few words to describe his glass sculptural assemblances. Photographs do the work some justice, but these are no substitute for seeing them in person at this summer's unmissable display at Kew. Pick a sunny day to pop along and don't bypass the important though long film, which shows the creating/making process in some depth.

Ten out of ten. Kew have shown his well-sited work before and I missed it. No wonder it's come back for a repeat performance. Oh, and there's some outstanding plants to enjoy as well.

Recent art shows round up

It's been a busy winter and start to spring. I've been away and otherwise had my head in my computer writing a book. I have still been looking at art, but without the time to write about it. So here's a whistle-stop round up of the shows I've seen since Christmas.

Tracey Emin at Whitecube, Bermondsey

Generally excellent, except that I didn't really go for the large bronzes. Mainly paintings here on difficult and unsettling subject matter- abortion and the death of her mother. I enjoy her paintings. Their fluidity and confidence of gesture is impressive. And they are more lovely to look at and less obvious than Kahlo on the same and similar subjects. The roomful of insomnia photographs rang a very large bell with me. Oh, for a decent night's sleep.

Bonnard, Tate Modern

Big blockbuster bore. Snoringly dull subject matter that viewed with twenty first century eyes is just not interesting, no matter how ground breaking it was at the time. I don't want to see the garden from your dining room, and despite the many times your wife takes a bath, there's really no excuse for painting her, every, single, day. Also, you can't paint dogs and cats for toffee. Don't even try. BUT you can do colour, colour, colour, colour. The master of complementarity. No contest.

Bill Viola, Royal Academy

Fabulous and wonderful as always. I just love his videos. Technology moves and he just gets better and better. Paired in this show with rarely seen and complimentary/influential drawings by Michael Angelo from the royal collection at Windsor, this was the best way to spend a cold Sunday than just about anything else I know. I took a novice who immediately became a convert. Bliss.


Van Gogh, Tate Britain

Blockbuster two - yeah, all the greatness you expect. Tortuous conceit of trying to make it something about the years he lived in south London before he became a painter. Throwing in of British art he supposedly influenced - hmm. The Bacons in the last room were a joy. Crowded beyond measure, etiquette and politesse. But it's Van Gogh, and At Eterity's Gate with Willem Dafoe is a must see film while I'm on the topic.