James Gillray

I’m not a huge fan of Christmas, but I am impressed by the impact of a well-chosen Christmas present. This year, on the strength of a rave review in the LRB, my son bought me a copy of “James Gillray”, a massive, expensive study of the eighteenth century caricaturist. It was too heavy to comfortably manipulate on my lap, so I ended up reading it at the dining room table, for a quarter of an hour each day.

And what a treat that was. The drawings are amazingly intricate, and fantastically energetic. The text carefully explains which particular politician is the target and why, and the illustrations are brilliant, often producing two copies of the same picture at different scales, so we can grasp both the specific detail and the overall design.

There is, too, a complex political and technical background, whereby different people may contribute to a particular cartoon - original idea, drawing, engraving, publication, promotional campaign. Sometimes Gillray was personally involved, but sometimes he wasn’t - serving whichever power group was willing to pay for his services. His work inspires modern artists like Martin Rowson and Steve Bell, but it’s astonishing to grasp that many of these masterpieces were never drawn at all - but inscribed immediately, in reverse, onto metal platyes. Just astonishing.

Windrush Portraits

Precious little comfort in the news, so when an uplifting documentary comes along, it’s something to savour. For me “Windrush: portraits of a generation” came into that category. Not a new idea. You get a collections of people, you pair them up with an artist each, you record he development of those relationships, and then at the end you show them all milling about, admiring the results.

But this time there were two elements that made it special. The subjects of the portraits, hugely varied, were all Windrush veterans - who’d survived that turbulent history. Many of them had the wit,wisdom and vitality to demonstrate what a triumph that was.

The other distinctive feature was that the climax was at Buckingham Palace, because the patron of this whole project was King Charles III. I’m not a huge fan. For all sorts of good reasons he’s remote, a bit impersonal, often stuffy. But on this issue he does seem o have inherited his mother’s respect for the best part of the Commonwealth tradition, and he was insistent that the Uk should see the Windrush generation as a huge asset, to be celebrated as much as famous writers, generals or political leaders. Hence the portraits. And how far that attitude is from the blinkered hostility of our elected government.

Art That Made Us

With the news daily reminding us that we are ruled by idiots, it’s good to get a regular reminder that our there are intelligent, creative people who can enrich our lives. The series Art That Made Us, in BBC iplayer, eight one-hour episodes isn’t a blockbuster or accompanied by rave reviews, but I think it’s brilliant. It works through the history of British art, obviously selecting and leaving whole chunks out, but what they give us is fascinating. Not the traditional genius offering their overview, but a battery of varied experts, from all kinds of angles, but always interesting. It’s brilliantly edited, so the pieces fit together, but in addition to the academics we get a battery of current art practitioners, responding to what’s going on with the enthusiasm of people who actually share that passion - “Man, can he paint!” one fan gasps in admiration. I’ve tackled it slowly, a bite at a time, but every time I watch an episode I feel better equipped to cope with the madness that surrounds us.

The Mackintosh flat

We’ve just come back from holiday. Yes, I know. Sounds radical, almost provocative, and we were really lucky with the timing. We’d booked a four night stay at a Landmark property in Comrie, just north of Dunblane, but a fortnight before we were due to go we weren’t sure if regulations would allow it. We were self-catering, and had only the most minimal contact with other people - occasional visits to shops - so most of the time was either exploring the area, or staying in the flat. But what a flat! It’s on the first floor, above a shop, and was designed by Rennie Mackintosh after a fire had destroyed the previous flat. From the outside it looks interesting, a corner building with white walls and a striking tower at the point of the corner. Inside, you can sit at a beautiful hexagonal table, looking out through one of three windows at the village street below, or reading through one of the many beautifully illustrated books charting the Mackintosh career - painstaking, visionary, frequently misunderstood. At times it’s a heart-breaking story, but we were so lucky to be able to explore it in that setting.

The Mike Dibb season

How can we pass the time? There is a benevolent conspiracy to share the various goodies on offer, particularly the ones that are free. So here’s yet another shout out for my best friend, The Guardian. Three weeks ago they warned me about the Mike Dibb season, running at the Whitechapel Gallery from January to March. “Mike Dibb” may not immediately ring bells, but “Ways of Seeing” might. John Berger’s series of four films about art and the way we look at it was hugely influential. So, the first week of this season there they are, all four of them, because they were produced by Mike Dibb. In the second week, I catch up with two of my socialist heroes, Raymond Williams and C.L.R. James. I knew they were coming, but there’s also another stunning film about creativity, featuring talking heads I’ve never heard of, which is just brilliant. You have to be quick, because they’re only there for a week, before they move on to the next batch. (Q: Did Mike Dibb ever sleep?)

And this week (starting yesterday, which is why I’m telling you now) there’s a brilliant film about Moorish Andalusia - “Mirrors of Paradise.” I’m lucky, because I’ve visited (and written poems about) the irrigation of the Generalife, the mosque at Cordoba, and it was gorgeous to be reminded. But if these things are only names then you still need to watch this, as a brilliant introduction to the various ways in which this wonderful, tolerant civilisation stimulated architecture and cooking, music and writing, horticulture and art. Google Whitechapel Gallery, click on the Mike Dibb section, click on “here”, and away you go.

Great Art

“Gentileschi, Hockney, Steve McQueen.” That’s what my diary says, for the first weekend in May. But that’s May 2020, so it didn’t happen. I haven’t been inside an art gallery this year.

So you make up any way you can. My current route is Great Art, on ITV. It’s at 10.30 on a Tuesday night, so thank God for catch-up. But it’s well worth it. This current series of five has just finished - Van Gogh, Monet, Vermeer, Matisse and Renoir. Interested?

I don’t actually like Renoir much, and the biggest collection of his work is in the States - an eccentric benefactor called Barnes bought 180 of them. Thanks to the programme, I can get to look at lots of them, and hear really smart experts talk about them, often in extreme but articulate disagreement with each other. And I can watch a contemporary artist show me how the actual painting process works. All that in an hour, for free. But it’s on ITV hub, where they don’t tell you how long they’ll keep it for. Catch them while you can.

Rule Britannia, remix.

I’ve long believed that the Brexit project was rooted in imperial nostalgia, and you can say that’s a consoling myth for Remainers, but the evidence is mounting up. No.10 wanted union jacks on the Oxford/AstraZenica vaccine, Matt Hancock was sure that our vaccine development and availability was down to Brexit, and Gavin Williamson is just sure that we’re better than any other country at…well, just about anything.

And then there’s Oliver Dowden. If I were culture minister, I’m not sure what would be worrying me most. Struggling performers, theatre management, art galleries under pressure…but no. Top of Oliver’s agenda is persuading Netflix to educate their ignorant viewers that The Crown is not a documentary, it’s a DRAMA. You couldn’t make it up.

Wrestling Exhibition

No, me neither. But this isn’t an exhibition of wrestling - it’s an exhibition featuring the people who do wrestling, who referee it, and who watch it. There’s sixteen varied characters, and for each one we get a stunning photo and a commentary, carefully selected from their own words, which tells us who they are. (Photos by Nicole Lovell, commentaries by Steve Pottinger). They’re a mixture - the Black Country lad who got to travel the world, the violent boy who learnt how to control his tempter, the sixteen year old girl who saw her mum in the ring and thought “Now it’s my turn.” Human stories, in short, powerfully told and beautifully presented. Just as I’m thinking I need to take some notes, and maybe an illicit photo or two, it dawns on me that there’s a freebie - a 28-page newspaper containing all the photos, all the commentaries. I can keep this for life. So don’t hang around. This treat is waiting for you, absolutely free, at Wolverhampton Library (upstairs, in the gallery above the Adult Information room) , until Feb 22nd. Enjoy.

Dorothea Tanning

Having spent months cooped up at home, not waslking far, not venturing out, suddenly we have a ten day holiday in Portugal, and then two days later a two-day raid on London. We’ve always done these, but as the joints stiffen so the itineraries get a little less ambitious - more time sitting in cafes, fewer galleries attempted. And I make it part of the routine that I grab one of their collapsible stools before I start. It makes a huge different to my gallery stamina if I know that at any point I can find a small space, plonk down the stool, and just sit for a minute or two. That way, it’s still varied and interesting enough to make it worthwhile.

Two of the main attractions this time were both at Tate Britain - Van Gogh in England, and the monster Don McCullin show. But in a way the big bonus was the unexpected - Dorothea Tanning at Tate Britain. Had never heard of her, only went on the strength of two rave reviews, but they were entirely justified. american woman who got involved with the Surrealists, married Max Ernst, and then weirdly fell under the radar (not through any fault of Ernst, or the gang, who clearly rated her). She interesting, lively witty, but also prolific and varied - as you go from room to room, charting changes in subject matter and style, it’s an unfolding revelation of talent on the move. Yet another instance of wanting to buy the book, so as to hang on to this excitement, and follow it through properly, rather than leaving it behind on the busy trail of exciting discoveries which quickly become forgotten. So here I am, facing another expensive book, but not sorry at all. I know I’m going to enjoy going back through this, and I’m grateful to have had the chance.

Arsenal Poetry

We have, it must be said, paid our dues. Arsenal fans have put up with a load of rubbish and heartbreak over the past few years, so it’s good to have something to warm the cockles of our hearts. Our third goal (from a 5-`1 demolition of Fulham, admittedly) was a thing of beauty - the ball caressed from one player to the next with a series of deft, outrageous touches which somehow transported it from one end of the pitch to the other, enabling Ramsey to guide it into the net with a sublime conjuror’s flick. OK, we haven’t beaten anyone good yet, and the defence very much remains a work in progress, but emery works and he cares, and he’s got the team looking a lot more lively than they have for years. We’ll settle for what we can get, and count ourselves lucky.

Vandalism of Art

Are we worse than we used to be? Are we worse than the others? I know I'm getting old and jaundiced, but right now, so far as the UK is concerned, my answers to both the above would be "Yes". The occasion of this is the art project, The List, which has been exhibited in Liverpool , and vandalised - twice.

The List features the names of over 34,000 migrants who died trying to reach Europe. It has been displayed in Berlin, Istanbul, Basel and Athens. Only in Liverpool has it been torn down, and then when it was replaced it was torn down again. Somebody really doesn't want to have this stuff displayed. The organisers will leave it up as it is, with a  notice explaining what's happened, and that may be the best response. All the same, I can't help thinking that tells us once again what a nasty, divided place the UK has become.   

Civilised LRB

It's a bonus of retirement that I think I have sufficient time and money to maintain a subscription to the London Review of Books. that lets me in for some serious reading, some of which I can anticipate. In the issue I'm currently reading, for instance, I'm not surprised to find David Bromwich on how to respond to Trump, or Michael Wood's take on Moonlight. what comes as a massive bonus, though, is the obscure stuff I wasn't expecting - Rory Stewart on the accounts of Aleppo written in the eighteenth century by two Scottish brothers, who lived and worked there for years. Even better is a glorious essay on Hogarth, which starts from the obvious satirical stuff which I knew already, but moves on to some gorgeous, warm portraits I had never heard of - which are fabulously reproduced. Hannah Osborne and Thomas Coram, on p.10 of the LRB of Feb 16th. I take my time, I learn new stuff, I feel wiser and happier about the world. I know - I'm very lucky. 

Grayson Perry

I've said it before, but now he;'s back again, and its still true. Grayson Perry is the best interviewer on TV, bar none. In his current series, All Man, he talks to hooligans, police officers, traders, casual passers-by, and treats them all with the same honesty and warmth. "don't take this the wrong way", he smiles at a huge cage-fighter who could clearly knock him into the middle of next week if he so chose, but then delivers a delicate, serious question - which, because it's offered that way, is answered in the same spirit. He's interested and he's pursuing a serious train of thought, but he doesn't have an agenda, or an urge to dominate, undermine or pigeonhole the people he's talking to. He's genuine, and they get that, so they're genuine too. Pure gold dust.

Janet Mendelsohn

Went to Birmingham for the day, for a whole-day programme of stimulus and chat, provided for free by Birmingham Unisersity. Grab it now, because the chance may not come again. It was centred on the photographs of Janet Mendelsohn, a young American who came to Birmingham in the sities, and took some wonderful photos of Balsall Heath. i will declare an interest. My son lives in Balsall Heath, and I went there in the sixties, as part of a week's workcamp centred on a housing survey of Varna Road - then famous as "the wickedest street in England" due to its thriving prostitution trade. Janet M become really friendly with one of the working girls, and took a whole series if photos of her, her pimp, her kids, and the surrounding area. They're close, warm portraits, by someone who feels at home and is trusted - not at all a fast raid by an outsider in search of sensations. On top of that, Janet M was friendly with Stuart and Catherine Hall (she gave a lovely brief talk remembering that), who were central to the Birmingham Centre of Cultural studies - community arts, including photography, all sorts of connections - which were also followed up during the day. And when I did my education year in 1966-7, I wrote a long essay about Education and the Mass Media, drawing heavily on the Popular Arts, a book co-written by Stuart Hall. Great photos, politics and art, and a heavy dose of nostalgia - a terrific day.   

The Story of Scottish Art

Each week, as i skim through the schedules, there seems to be less and less that I actually want to watch. and currently, when i make a list of the "must-sees" there's only one - The Story of Scottish Art. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that they've dug up a superb presenter I've never heard of - after all, my credentials on Scottish Art aren't that great. But he is so good - expert, enthusiastic, engaging and never dull - but without that self absorption that makes it so hard to watch Yentob or Cruikshank. This guy knows about this stuff, cares about it, and really wants us to share his enthusiasm. I do, I do. Catch it while you can.    

Parker at the Whitworth

Oh, wow. The reviews suggested that it might be worth going to Manchester for the day, generally to see the refurbished Whitworth Art Gallery, and specifically to catch the Cornelia Parker show before it closes at the end of this month. Were they right? Yes, yes, and yes. It’a brilliant building, flooded with light, where behind a gloomy Victorian face there’s space, huge windows, the constant backdrop of the park.

And the Parker exhibition is just wonderful. So varied, so intelligent, stuff to think about and stuff to love, spread generously over half a dozen rooms. There’s a lovely story in the news coverage about the Whitworth curator falling in love with Parker’s exploded shed when she was 22, and having vowed ever since that if she ever got the chance to mount a retrospective of Cornelia Parker’s work…well, she did, and here it is, and I’m so glad we caught it. Plus, it was a nice day, and the gallery is free, and they let you take photos, and the staff are young, keen and friendly. You don’t have to believe me. Just go.