Living for the Weekends - St Paul's Carnival

Well, Britain, what a bloody fantastic weekend. Not only did Andy Murray become the first Briton to win Wimbledon since Fred Perry 77 years ago, we were also treated to a weekend of pure, unadulterated sunshine - something that also hasn't happened in 77 years. This weekend I celebrated the hot weather by heading down to St. Paul's carnival, a Caribbean Street Festival hailed as the "better, and less commercial" Notting Hill Carnival. And, having sampled both in my lifetime, I'd have to say I agree. Bristol's older equivalent seems far more authentic - more music, more food, and less hectic - altogether, far more Caribbean. The carnival started on Friday night and lasted into the early hours of this morning. If it hadn't clashed with Wimbledon, you would have had some trouble stopping me from pitching a tent and staying there the whole weekend. Here's what I got up to...

Cuppy filled up with Rum'n'Lemon

Beer Garden @ Full Moon Pub

Drinks & Dancing

"Has anyone seen my Mummy?"

Facepainting!

...complete with BINDI!

Facepaint Pouters 

My First Goat Curry

Friends 4eva

The Holy Trinity

Argyle Road

Balloons?

Banksy, Park Street 

Watermelon Crusher / Nectar from the Gods

What did you get up to this weekend?

Love,

Belle x

London Art: Lichtenstein Retrospective & Becoming Picasso

I'm not going to lie, being a History of Art student has a lot of perks. For one, we probably have the least hours of any degree subject - technically, this year I have a five-day weekend (if only it were true in practice). Secondly, looking at art is a lot more visually appealing than looking at pie charts, dead bodies, or algebra. Thirdly, we get to go on field trips, and, as Cartman would put it, pretty much "do what we wawwnt". On Wednesday morning, a bleary-eyed group of 20-somethings boarded a minibus headed to London, buoyed up by the prospect of free travel and decent pubs at the other end. After five and a half hours of wishing we'd just splashed out and taken the train - if only for the extra legroom - we arrived in London at the Tate Modern. After a quick headcount, we were left to our own devices - which meant a quick look round the galleries and then on to the pub. Rather than see the permanent exhibits, I decided that I might as well take a tour of the new Roy Lichtenstein Retrospective exhibition that the Tate is hosting. So, hopefully without too much pretension, here's what I thought of it...

One of the most influential artists of the 20th century, Lichtenstein is one whose work is instantly recognisable, yet a lot of people don't know his name. His career started in the early 1960's, and, along with contemporaries such as Andy Warhol and Sir Peter Blake, gave rise to the Pop Art Movement with his preoccupation with comic strips, advertising, and mass culture imagery. Fun, often in the form of tongue-in-cheek parodies, is a huge part of Lichtenstein's work. The first room of the exhibition contains his 'Brushstrokes' series; a gentle jab at the abstract expressionism of Jackson Pollock, who had dominated the previous decade. While Pollock emphasised how his strokes were random and a result of chance, Lichtenstein makes a brushstroke 'a grand gesture'; outlining it in harsh black and making it the central focus of his paintings. 

Roy Lichtenstein, Brushstroke, 1965

Much like Courbet in the 19th century, who took scenes of 'low life' peasants and blew them up to gigantic, 'in-your-face' size to challenge the Parisian bourgeoisie, Lichtenstein took 'low-brow', mass-produced media, and made it look like art. His most famous series is entitled 'War and Romance', and features distressed looking women and fighter pilots depicted in comic-strip form, using dots for colour and shading - as was the process for printing actual comic books. Focusing on preconceived gender roles of the 'damsel in distress' and the male hero, he tentatively highlights the problems of sexism in the mass media by making it so glaringly obvious. The series made Lichtenstein an overnight sensation, and provoked as much media interest in the 1960's as Tracey Emin did with her unmade bed in the 90's, debating either Lichtenstein's ingenuity or impertinence. In the exhibition, the series is displayed in one room, against a stark white background - intensifying the comic strip element. 

Roy Lichtenstein, Hopeless, 1963

Roy Lichtenstein, Masterpiece, 1962

Roy Lichtenstein, Whaam!, 1963

Around the same time, Lichtenstein also produced a lesser-known black and white series, which focused not on comics but rather on mundane everyday household items (like Warhol and his soup cans). The most successful of these is the huge Compositions I (1964), where he blows up the size of a high-school exercise book to dwarf the viewers. In this way, the painting becomes the object, rather than just a depiction of it. 

Roy Lichtenstein, Compositions I, 1964

In the latter half of the 60's, Lichtenstein experimented with landscape. Personally, I don't think they're as successful - presumably the conclusion he also came to, as he never did anything like them again. Using only coloured dots and lines, he attempted to render down sunsets and sunrises to their bare elements - but they lack character and any rooting in recognisable or relatable popular imagery, and are, on the whole, pretty forgettable. Around this time, he also branched out into sculpture, taking inspiration from the then-outdated style of New York Art Deco for oversized, shiny brass sculptures. Although a complete departure from his usual style and oeuvre, they are quite amazing - especially since he attempted them as a complete amateur. 

As I mentioned before, a big part of understanding Lichtenstein is the amusing way he deals with the subject of authorship and appropriation in art. Whilst it is slightly more acceptable to 'make art' out of comic strips or advertisements, when Lichtenstein takes on Picasso, things start to get interesting. Inspired by the artists of the first half of the 20th century, Lichtenstein created a series of paintings that put his own spin on the iconic works of Picasso, Matisse and Mondrian, among others. In my opinion, he's most successful at Picasso - their styles seem to work and compliment each other, creating a really interesting dialogue. This is shown in a 1974 Portrait Triptych, where one of Lichtenstein's glossy damsels morphs into a proto-cubistic Picasso 'femme'. The irony here is that Picasso is famously quoted to have said: "Good artists copy, great artists steal." You can see the inspiration and adaptation process if you put together the original Delacroix Femmes d'Alger, Picasso's Les Femmes d'Algers and Lichtenstein's interpretation, Femme d'Alger...

Eugene Delacroix, Femmes d'Alger, 1834

Pablo Picasso, Les Femmes d'Algers, 1955

Roy Lichtenstein, Femme d'Alger, 1963

In this way, Lichtenstein is aligning himself with the greats of Art History. 

Another artist that Lichtenstein 'took on' was Matisse. In the early 70's, Lichtenstein embarked on a series of 'Artist's Studios', taking heavy inspiration from Matisse's series of a similar subject matter. In Matisse's 1911 work, The Pink Studio, the artist depicts his studio - complete with his own works upon the walls. Lichtenstein copies this idea in his work Artist Studio 'Look Mickey' in 1973, where we see one of his earlier Pop Art works hanging with prominence on the wall. I also believe he's drawing somewhat on the work of the 'father of Pop Art' - Richard Hamilton - and his 1959 collage, Just what is it that makes today's homes so different, so appealing? See what you think...

Henri Matisse, The Pink Studio, 1911

Roy Lichtenstein, Artist's Studio 'Look Mickey', 1973

Richard Hamilton, Just what is it that makes today's homes so different, so appealing?, 1959

For Lichtenstein, the 1980's seem to have been a bit of a blip. Focusing on lines and perspective, he created a number of works that are, in my humble opinion, quite emotionless and devoid of imagination. Not to fear, though, because you can skip that room and move straight onto the 90's - where he's back to his old self. His focus once again is on gender roles in the media, this time through the age-old medium of nudes. Apparently in a retrospective mood himself, Lichtenstein revisits the comic-strip females that ignited his career as a successful artist - this time stripping them naked and contorting them into positions of ecstasy. In this way, they become less objects of lust and voyeurism and more autonomous, free-thinking individuals. That having been said, there is still a strong focus on media-perceived female beauty, and you can see how the aesthetics of the 90's Barbie doll had permeated ideas of feminine perfection.

Roy Lichtenstein, Two Nudes, 1995

At this point I was summoned to the pub, so I quickly looked at the last room of the exhibition - Japanese-inspired dot-paintings - before heading to Covent Garden to catch up with some friends. After a rushed drink, we said our goodbyes and headed to the Courtauld Institute in Somerset House to assemble for our private, after-hours tour of the new Picasso exhibition currently on show: 'Becoming Picasso: Paris 1901'. 

Spread over a manageable two rooms, the exhibition focuses on the year that was a huge turning point for Picasso - both personally and artistically. In this year, he moved from his native Spain to Paris, and started signing his works simply, Picasso. In this way, he 'became' Picasso, as, before then, he had used both his parents surnames: Ruiz and Picasso (as is the tradition in Spain). It signifies a real sense of personal identification and reinvention for the artist, shown in the amazing assembly of works the Courtauld has managed to beg, steal and borrow for the exhibition. It marks the departure point for the one of the periods he is best known for: his blue period - and the paintings in this series witness the development of themes and ideas that would come to permeate and define his later works. I've included my favourite works from the exhibition here, one of which - the Girl with a Dove - is quite personal, as I grew up with a print of it in my childhood bathroom! If you're around the Strand between now and the end of May, I would definitely recommend you pop into Somerset House and see the paintings for yourself. In the risk of sounding like a hippy, they have an incredibly powerful 'aura' about them, and are charged with emotional energy. Even if you don't buy in for any of that, simply go because you'll probably never see all these works in the same room again - certainly not in London, anyway.

Pablo Picasso, The Blue Room (The Tub), 1901

Pablo Picasso, Girl with a Dove, 1901

Pablo Picasso, The Death of Casagemas, 1901
Painted after the dramatic suicide of his close Spanish friend,
the poet Carlos Casagemas, which had a huge impact on
Picasso - both personally and artistically.

Pablo Picasso, Self Portrait, 1901

Love,
Belle x

The Mean Reds

If you know me at all, you'll know my favourite movie is Breakfast at Tiffany's. In it, Holly Golightly explains how it feels to get 'The Mean Reds' to her dashing neighbour, Paul Varjak:

Holly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?

Paul: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?

Holly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling? 

I'd like to think my life draws many parallels with Holly's. I live alone in an apartment, rarely have anything more in my fridge than a lone bottle of champagne, sleep in late, and I occasionally cat-sit for my neighbours. Granted, I don't go out every night in fabulous gowns with older men, and I unfortunately don't have a handsome and creatively-troubled single neighbour in my building, but there are similarities there. Living alone has its perks. I can stay up as late as I want, get up as early as I want, make noise, make mess, have friends over, and not feel the least bit guilty. Yes, it is a selfish lifestyle, but I'd choose living solo over arguments about bills, noise, and who-stole-my-cheese any day. The only trouble with living alone is in the name: it sometimes gets a bit lonely. 

I'm an only child, so solitude comes almost as a second nature. I'm not good in groups, don't like crowds, and will opt for a night in watching Sex in the City over looking for sex in the city. I suppose you could call me a bit of a hermit. It means I don't rely on the company of others as much as other people, but it also means that when loneliness strikes, it's often crippling. In the movie, Holly's antidote for this feeling is to head to Tiffany's, because, "nothing very bad could happen to you there." My 'Tiffany's' are exhibitions, and today I went to a new one.

The Cornerhouse Manchester is not somewhere I frequent very often. Not because it isn't lovely, but because I always feel a bit, well, out of place. It's one of those trendy gallery-come-cafe-come-cinema's, and is always full of intimidating hipsters in oversized vintage coats and questionable haircuts - I'm afraid I, in my brand-new Topshop boots and blowdried hair, don't quite cut it in terms of 'alternative chic'. Nevertheless, I'd been wanting to go to their current David Shrigley exhibition as soon as I had heard about it, and seeing as I'd had a bad case of the Mean Reds last night, I thought it would be a good antidote. As it was Friday lunchtime, most hipsters were either still in bed with an absinthe hangover, or dining at the latest pop-up burger restaurant, so I was free to wander around unjudged. Spread over three small floors, your introduction into the mind of David Shrigley is in a room with a foam bed (the "napping station"), a whiteboard (to write how you are feeling), a mirror, and a gong (just because). I could tell this was going to be the perfect exhibition.

Already feeling my spirits lifting, I continued to the second floor. Covered almost floor to ceiling with black-and-white drawings, it's like stumbling down the rabbit hole and into the mind of the Mad Hatter or Cheshire Cat - nothing makes sense, everything is allowed, and silliness is most definitely encouraged...

David's art has an amazing way of making you feel happy. It makes you laugh (which was fine, because there was no one there to stare at me), it makes you think, and it makes you feel less alone. Gradually, I realised it's ok to be lonely sometimes. And a bit weird. And this feeling made me happy.

The third floor holds a giant statue of a man, with a row of chairs encircling him, and sheets of A3 covering the walls. It became apparent that you are encouraged to draw, or make some kind of artistic offering, that will be put on the walls. A little apprehensive, I looked around at what other people had drawn...

...and slowly but surely built up the courage to sit down and take a Shrigley-esque crack at it. Here is my finished product, in all it's glory:

The exhibition is entitled 'How are you feeling?'. On the whiteboard in the first floor, I had written lonely. By the time I had finished with my purple sharpie on the third, I was happy. For now, at least, the Mean Reds were gone.

How are you feeling?

Love,
Belle x

Liverpool Biennale 2012

When I was growing up, I bonded with my Dad over two things: The Beatles, and toy trains. My love for Thomas the Tank Engine has lessened over the years (much to my Dad's dismay), but I do still heart The Beatles. I realise, after nearly three years spent at Manchester, it is almost a crime that I haven't visited the Fab Four's hometown. So when my friend Ed told me about a free trip to the Liverpool Biennale, the 10 week art show that the city is currently holding, my reply was something along the lines of "hell yes girlfriend"...

The excursion was organised by The Manchester Art Group, a student-run society that puts on everything from talks to interactive art spaces. We took a coach rather than a train, which, while feeling rather like a school trip, did allow you to see a lot more of Liverpool. The outskirts are obviously high in unemployment; job centres are on every street corner, the young and the old sit dejected at bus stops, rows of beautiful Georgian terraces burnt out or boarded up. The city has obviously tried to regenerate this area with their 'Innovation Park', but even this sits opposite a huge abandoned building - I later found out this 1920's architectural giant was once Littlewood's Headquarters.

The desolate hulk of Littlewood's Headquarters. Edge Lane, Liverpool

As we rumbled towards the city centre, we passed many more sad, boarded up houses of considerable age, as well as Liverpool's Cathedral - a gothic gorilla (yep, gorilla) of a building - before coming to a stop at the docks. Jumping off the coach, we headed first to the Tate Liverpool, en route to which we passed the official Beatles Museum (which I tried - and failed - to conceal my desire to visit). Situated on the redeveloped Albert Dock, Tate Liverpool has a more independent, rather than national, art gallery feel. It's small and intimate, spread over 3 floors, with windows that overlook the dock or the Mersey River. The light that reflects into the gallery off the water gives it a sharp and bright feel - perfect to view the artwork put together for the Biennale. This Biennale concentrates on the theme of 'hospitality'; what it means to be a visitor to this country, to be a foreigner in another, and the 'experience' (social, racial, educational, etc) of Britain. At the Tate, the idea of social hospitality and class was expressed in Gilbert & George's Scum. I have loved the eccentric duo since I studied them at A Level; their work, which generally takes 'low brow' subjects (graffiti, bodily excrements, alcohol...) and elevates them to a 'high brow' status by organising the images like you would a stained glass window. A lot of the time you don't even realise you're staring at a 'microscoped' piece of dandruff or drop of pee until you get up close. The 'grid' pattern of Scum and their other work exhibited actually mirrored the pattern of the window panes in the gallery space, which I thought was quite cool. 

Albert Dock

Gilbert & George, Scum, 1977

View of the Mersey out Tate Liv's Window

Also included was some of Keith Arnatt's photography, namely his A.O.N.B. (Area of Natural Beauty) series, which is an affectionate view of life around a small village in the early 80's. Later, his worked moved to the city, and started to become more humorously critical of British urban life. Here's my favourite of his A.O.N.B series:

Keith Arnatt, A.N.O.B. (Areas Of Outstanding Beauty), 1982-4

Two other memorable works were Sophie Calle's photographic diary of her time as a cleaner in a Venetian hotel, where she photographed the occupant's rooms and documented what had changed from day to day; and Pak Sheung Chuen's A Travel Without Visual Experience, where he travelled to the Far East and photographed his experience - without using his eyes. He closed them and relied only on his bodily perceptions to create the photographs. They are shown in a pitch black room, where you are encouraged to use the flash on your camera to view the photographs that line the walls - much like his experience of his travels. 

Sophie Calle, The Hotel, Room 47, 1981

Inside Pak Sheung Chuen's Travel Without Visual Experience

Figures illuminated

Boo!

Not ready to leave the Tate when the rest of the group was, Ed and I decided to check out the exhibition 'Tracing the Century'; a collection of sketches and drawings spanning (unsurprisingly) the last century. There were some interesting works by Tracey Emin and Henry Moore, as well as some unusual homoerotic sketches by Andy Warhol from the end of his career in the early 80's. There were also a couple of video installations (again in pitch black rooms), one of which, by William Kentridge entitled Felix in Exile, I could have happily zoned out in front of for the rest of the day. Check it out here - apologies for the quality.

Ed in Anthony McCall's Light Describing a Cone, 1973.
He is standing inside the cone described.

Next, we headed over to the Cunard Building, one of the beautiful 1920's buildings on the Mersey riverfront. The mid-afternoon light hitting their grand facades made them glow - Liverpool looked, well, quite beautiful actually. Don't believe me? Take a look for yourself...

As we'd taken more time at the Tate, we arrived half-way through the guided tour of the 'exhibition' held at the Cunard Building. I say 'exhibition', it was around 5 artworks spread over about 300m squared. This might have been acceptable if they were mind-blowingly amazing/large, but to me, they just reeked of bullshit. A room with a random slideshow of fighting knives juxtaposed with a battered statue of a parrot and a poster of Brazil was supposed to represent our expectations of other countries. Some sewn-together pieces of blue paper hanging from the windows were supposed to represent the sea. No. Just no. It's shit like this that gives contemporary art a bad name. It's not saying anything new. It's not exciting, or thought-provoking, or imaginative. It's just crap, put together with other crap, for some pretentious bozo to come round and claim they 'understand'.

Slightly angered by this artistic injustice, we moved on to the Open Eye Gallery across the road. This was showcasing work of the Japanese photographer Kohei Yoshiyuki, whose erotic and sexually-based works of the early 70's caused quite a reaction when shown to the public. The main focus of the exhibition was another darkened room, where you were given a torch before entering. Around the walls are photos of Tokyo parks and the sexual activities that happen in them. Many of them are of male voyeurs peeping through bushes to try and glimpse the action that is happening. Disturbing, but weirdly fascinating, as you are viewing these from the point of the voyeur; your torch becomes their torch, your gaze becomes their gaze...

It's interesting to compare his work to that of Moriyama, whose work is currently exhibited alongside William Klein's at the Tate Modern.

Lastly we visited Bluecoats Art Centre - apparently the oldest surviving building in central Liverpool. The building looked quite magical in the evening - the courtyard's trees were lit up beautifully by fairy lights, and it definitely has put me more in the mood for Christmas! We were here to see the much-acclaimed John Akomfrah film The Unfinished Conversation, which documents the life and experience of Jamaican-born, Oxford-educated Stuart Hall, who went on to be one of the main advocates of the black movement in Britain in the 1960's. It was a beautiful documentary, really thoughtfully filmed, and sparked many discussions on race as an issue in today's society amongst our group. Read The Telegraph's write up of it here.

Fairy Lights at Liverpool Bluecoats

A-Ha! A Tardis!

And so ended our trip to Liverpool. We have vowed to return, if only to visit the Beatles Museum and take silly pictures of the Penny Lane sign. 

Love,

Belle x