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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

Anni Albers at Tate Modern

When is weaving art?

When it's done at the Bauhaus and continued at Black Mountain College by the  exemplary Anni Albers, and displayed in a wonderfully informative exhibition. Having dabbled some years ago myself, I thoroughly enjoyed the patterns and colours, the technique and experimentation.

There is so much lovely work here it is hard to pick favourite pieces from the wall hangings and fabric designs, but six prayers as a torah covering where restrained and elegant, and there were several I would happily hang on my walls.

If you remain sceptical and think weaving can never be elevated beyond craft, then pop along with an open mind to review work created from a multitude of ancient and modern sources.

And take away this all too prescient thought:

'Our world goes to pieces, we have to rebuild our world...We learn courage from art work.' 

Picasso, 1932 - Tate Modern

If you've ever had the sacrilegious thought about how much work artists actually do, then take a look at the volume produced in just one year, 1932.

This summer's block buster is a fascinating assemblage and survey of Picasso's oevre, including earlier works from the retrospective he had in Paris that year. An astonishing output and variety of paintings and sculptures, and this is only some of it.

Major chapeau. Don't miss it, but deep breath, it's going to be crowded at whatever time you choose to go.  Just try not to find the guy who thinks it's totally OK to stand it front of you because he has to take a photograph.

All Too Human - Tate Britain

Acres of flesh and, curiously, London landscapes are on offer in this mixed show that celebrates British painting, or painters who worked in the city in the last hundred years.

Great stuff from the familiar Bacon, Spencer, Freud and Auerbach. Less familiar, but no less worthy are Souza and Rego. The final room, there are eleven in all, was one of my favourites with Jenny Saville and others. And there are plenty of others.

Paint is applied finely or laid on thick to explore the fleshiness of our bodies. This show is all about the human form. Most exquisite of all is Freud's portrait of his mother. It's small, perfect, and available to be oggled over all summer. No postcard though.

Rachel Whiteread, Tate Britain

Seen a little while ago, but I failed to write about it, sorry, this major retrospective is essential if you are in any way a fan of the not so Y now, YBAs.

As they are all about my age, I feel woefully inadequate when faced with a body of work as impressive as Whiteread's. Although her famous House is not extant, having been torn down in what might be judged as the worst planning mistake a council ever made, there is more than enough here to show why she was the first woman to win the Turner Prize in 1993.

She's all about space, the nothing places and things that we don't notice, like the undersides of the hundred chairs cast in coloured resin in the main hall. And the things that will never be, like the books not written by Holocaust victims in her memorial to them in Vienna, which I have also seen. Here there are similar book shelves with books placed spine in.

Of all her castings, doors, mattresses, staircases, my favourites were the tiny and domestic. Her hot water bottles in various media are some of her earlier pieces, and there is a whole case of them to rekindle my interest. But this is also work of scale and wonder. Just how did she do that?

Impressionists in London, Tate Britain

The quietest times of the year to visit a gallery is just before Christmas and between Christmas and New Year, when everyone is elsewhere doing other things. Hurrah for that. December 23rd at Tate Britain was calm, almost empty, and we had the place to ourselves. Perfect conditions for viewing the Impressionists.

I'm not a massive fan of this period really, but there is much to admire here from Monet, Pissaro, Tissot and all the others who fled the Franco-Prussian war and the Paris Commune for the safety of London, preferring to paint our suburbs and sporting events over the brutal realities of home.

Monet's series on the Palace of Westminster capturing the fog are worth your while alone. But sit in that room for several minutes, adjust your eyes to the lighting to get the most out of them, in the same manner as one had to with the Rothkos in their special room in days of yore.

Quite by accident, I drove passed spot where Pissaro lived in West Norwood the week before. Seven days later I find myself studying his painting of the same street in snow. Funny, these life co-incidences.

Pop along if you can afford to pay nearly £18 for the privilege. At this price, and why are exhibitions so very expensive?, it's making my membership look like a total bargain.

Glasgow Girls

It's always rather annoyed me that Mackintosh and the Boys get so much attention, when there were brilliant women artists working in Glasgow at the same time. Margaret MacDonald is probably the most important of these. Her high Art Nouveau interiors are magnificent as in this example from Kelvingrove.

Her gesso panels can also be found in the Glasgow School of Art, which is currently scaffolded and sheeted and undergoing an enormous and accurate restoration after the fire. Other work is in the Mackintosh house at the Hunterian, no doubt amongst other places. Her sweeping lines, stylised roses and delicate portraits especially please me.

The Glasgow Boys

I haven't been to Glasgow in literally decades, but this summer touring myself around the country to friends far flung, I had the chance to visit the boys again. They are in Kelvingrove in a room of their own and the scattered about the Hunterian, shining in all their glory. These are my favourites:

Henry and Hornel's collaboration - The Druids bringing in the Mistltoe - mysterious, huge, shiny and Klimtish. I just love the invention of mythology.

Guthrie - A funeral service in the Highlands - a monumental canvas for the subject matter where the foreground space is hugely important, snow covered echoing the grey sky. Also, no women as was traditional.

Guthrie - Old Willie, the village worthy - just the most wonderful portrait

Henry - Japanese lady with a fan - All things Japanese were especially in vogue at this point and this is a fabulously understated painting in its sombre palette and select use of colour, and the seemingly modest turned away face erotically exposing her neck.

Giacometti at Tate Modern

It's been an age since Giacometti had an exhibition in London, but what a disappointingly small one this was. There were too few rooms. I reached the end before I had really started.

Tiny sculptures that my old eyes can barely make out, especially if they are tucked behind poorly lit glass, large works that in all honesty I have seen many times before, and some of which are not actually that interesting, and the dark palette of his paintings, had me scratching my head, again.

Yes, I get it, working and reworking and paring down to the essence, with a limited number of sitters, but perhaps something more cheerful? Easy for me to say, as I did not live through the horrors of war or the immediate post-war reality of Europe.

Still...

The Soul of a Nation - Tate Modern

Generally excellent, expect it to be absolutely packed out, so be patient and you will have the chance to view the work in the gaps between people. This is a must see show of black art from 1963 to the early 1980s, covering the civil rights movement. It introduced me to artists I have never heard of, let alone seen. That is shameful as some of the paintings are wonderful.

There are films and much printed matter to read, so expect to take it slowly. The only part that lost my attention was as the exhibition moved away from its political focus to art in general. OK abstraction is abstraction is abstraction, but this seemed to be going beyond the brief unnecessarily.

My favourites were the gilded paintings and the remade African art, voodoo altars and the like. I am still astonished that such protest and response has taken place in my lifetime. A reminder as I get on that much has changed and for the better, but that much still needs to change. Ten out of ten.

Gillian Ayres at the Museum of Wales

It takes a certain degree of chutzpah to be this bold and huge with your work, but if you like your abstracts eye-wateringly bright and best viewed from as far away as the gallery space will afford, then this is the show for you.

Cardiff plays host to Gillian Ayres this summer. I'm not entirely sure why, but the National Museum decided to hang the show in reverse chronological order. Something of a pointless gesture if you ask me. I resisted being directed in this way and saw them in the order of making, preferring the earlier to the later, as well as her works on paper.

It was a welcome refuge from the more or less constant rain of the last two weeks, but I did feel sorry for all that day's graduands and graduates taking shelter in the museum as a good back drop for their photographs.

Vermeer at the Louvre

Small and perfectly formed, this is a truly lovely exhibition of umpteen Vermeers and contemporaries, thoughtfully hung by subject matter to facilitate comparisons.

Save yourself trips to London, the Netherlands and Germany etc., buy tickets and queue up for ages even though you have a ticket. Take a friend to talk to, or a good book.

Patience is certainly rewarded, but please be tall to see over everyone's head, or be prepared to wait for those gaps in the crowd and tour groups when you will have the Lacemaker and Milkmaid et al to yourself.

Enjoy these jewels while they shine in Paris and ask yourself why all the windows are on the left.

Hidden Paris - Musee Bourdelle

If you are sloping around Montparnasse looking for a peaceful spot, go no further. This small museum, built around Bourdelle's atelier and adjoining buildings, has beautiful courtyard gardens packed with his sculptures, as well as large exhibition halls with the same, including plaster casts.

Bourdelle was a student of Rodin and there are some influences to be spotted, but mostly his work is massive, muscular, even the women, and substantial. If you like your bronzes this bold, you will enjoy this hugely.

It was encouraging to see students sketching on a sunny day. Oh, and it's free to visit, plus you may be greeted by the smiliest  and most welcoming museum staff in Paris.

Wolfgang Tillmans at the Tate

If you only know Tillmans as the guy who made those eye-catching anti-Brexit posters last year, then this newly opened show till be a revelation of beautiful work.

He is a art photographer of some renown and his panoramic print have a lot in common with massive old master canvases. The African market scene is totally stunning. I was especially impressed by the abstracts made without the use of a camera.

The arrangement of the show is interesting, taking the eye up down and around the walls, but also annoying, as there are several places where small prints in the corner of rooms are practically unviewable due to the numbers of people in attendance, at least when we went, and similarly one huge abstract is hung in a corridor.

I can live without the sound piece and the rather unexciting film, but the reportage arrangements of printed material, his politics, and books are well worth your time. There is a lot to read. Patience rewarded.