In the Frame for November 2012

This month one of our volunteers has chosen Dan Duggan’s Cipher Series 1, which was brought into the Archives & Museum’s collections following its inclusion in the Bethlem Gallery’s 2010 exhibition, entitled Me, Myself and I, as this month’s featured picture. She writes:

“I find the face to appear elfish and earthy; roughly textured, the trails down his cheeks remind me of tree bark. Its severe gauntness and expansive forehead, which disappears out of view, also adds to this slightly inhuman quality. The expression is solemn and his eyes, staring blankly out from heavy shadows feel almost accusing. What is perhaps blood running from wounds in his forehead or tears from his eyes has been left to stream down his face untouched, perhaps because he himself is helpless, or does not notice or care. He does not appear in anguish from his wounds, his lips aren’t parted in a cry but are instead held defiantly together. His expression is in fact surprisingly benign given his horrific state. The stark wounds around his forehead remind me of those that might be inflicted from a crown of thorns, and in turn a Christ-like acceptance of them. The wounds might also be perceived as an attack on his mind, they appear aggressively drawn compared to the rest of the picture.

“The artist, Dan Duggan, who has had a long history of mental illness and has “witnessed the nature of a variety of institutions”, has said he wants “to engage with the vision I have of the conditions under which I have been kept safe”. He does not specify whether his vision is a negative or a positive one, but to me this picture communicates assault and pain, either inflicted internally or externally, where the victim’s emotional reaction is muted. I find this picture incredibly haunting.”

Dan Duggan - Cipher Series 1

In the Frame for October 2012

Von Ströpp’s The Five has been on display in our British Outsider Art exhibition, which ends early next month. It frequently draws the attention of school groups, whose regular refrain is, “I wish I could do something like that!” The intricate detail of the piece draws the viewer in, forcing the eye on a journey around the loops and swirls of the image rather than offering easy access to a conventional scene. The complexity of the work is awe-inspiring: small wonder the artist described the process of creation as both painful and compelling. Both of these emotions are easily invoked in the viewer.

At first glance, the picture appears old-fashioned, resembling an etching, perhaps from an antique religious text or one of the Old Masters his work is often said to resemble. The group of figures in their flowing clothing, blurring into their environment and the surrounding furniture and beasts, also suggests the idea of a textile: perhaps akin to the fifteenth century French Lady and the Unicorn tapestries. Yet the overpowering detail of the image might also suggest more modern concerns: the surrealist concern with dream representation, or even the conflicts between science and nature so evocatively described in many science fiction settings. The lack of distinction between objects and background means that one of the many things this picture brings to mind for me is the creeping progress of the red weed in H.G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds, covering and obscuring detail.

A self-taught artist, Von Ströpp recalls doodling from an early age, but was never encouraged to paint or draw. Despite the pain he describes while creating, the artist feels compelled to paint as a means of imposing order on the chaos of the visionary experience.

British Outsider Art is on until 3 November in the Bethlem Museum.

In the Frame for September 2012

This striking image was partly chosen by the Education Officer because the sitter appears so relaxed in, or indifferent to, our presence. Many in the Hering series show the subject either sitting or standing quite formally but his pose is a nonchalant one, legs crossed, head propped up by the elbow resting on the highly polished table. The other hand rests on his hip, the fingers turned back. The body language gives a relaxed and unruffled impression; this is a pose adopted of his own volition. Though seated at a table, there are no additional objects or surroundings to distract us; we in turn are forced to make contact.

For many sitters, clothing would have chosen carefully to reflect taste, wealth and status but here it is unlikely that much choice would have been available. That said, there has been some attempt at style and individuality in the way the clothes are worn. The shirt does not appear to have a collar but this has been mitigated by the neckerchief tied neatly around the neck. The waistcoat is buttoned to accentuate the fit and give an indication of the body within. In contrast, the jacket might be too big, we note the sleeves are turned up, but this is disguised by the way in which it is being worn. The pose allows the jacket to fall open so that any deficiency in fit is not obvious and, taken together with the rest of the image, we might believe the sleeves had been turned back for reasons of style rather than necessity. His hat set at jaunty angle, pushed back from his face, giving us a clear view of his rather impertinent gaze, calmly assessing us.

Unusually for photographic portraits of the time, he is looking to camera, making a direct connection with the viewer as recommended in a treatise on painting by the Renaissance polymath Alberti. It’s a challenging look, as compelling as it is disturbing. The eyes are focused on the viewer under slightly lowered brows. Although set in a young face, they give the impression that they have seen rather more than their years might suggest and have not flinched from the dangerous or unpleasant. If the eyes are indeed a ‘window on the soul’ then we might wonder at its quality; there is coldness, ruthlessness, even cruelty here. The mouth is closed with no hint of a smile, though arguably there is something sensual about it.

It is a photograph which is as intriguing as it is disturbing.

The photograph of JP will feature in a new thread ‘Hospital Snapshots’ beginning next month.

In the Frame for August

This month In the Frame goes ‘on holiday’, as it has done once before, to highlight a work of art outside the collections of the Archives and Museum. This time we feature the Canadian artist Kim Adams’ Bruegel-Bosch Bus (an installation on permanent display at the Art Gallery of Hamilton, Ontario) comprising a rusted VW campervan out of which sprawls a carnivalesque, comic-serious landscape of detailed miniature scenes built up from action figures, model railway sets, toy dinosaurs, dolls, skeletons and much else besides. A mock-industrial complex sprouts from the rear of the vehicle, small in scale but breathtaking in extent. Myriad scenes demand the patient attention of the viewer: fairground amusements, a fire in an office block, King Kong atop a skyscraper. The artist’s touch is light and most of his references are playful, but the overwhelming scope and detail of the work considered as a whole suggests an ambition on his part to represent the consumerist-industrialist enterprise of Western economies as a modern Tower of Babel. There is no clearer indication of this than in Adams’ acknowledgement of Peter Bruegel and Hieronymous Bosch in the title of his work, and indeed a comparable vision animates the intent and execution of their work (there are no better examples of this than Bruegel’s Turmbau zu Babel and Kinderspiele, both at Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum).

How has Adams’ Bruegel-Bosch Bus merited a place in this series of posts? Certainly not through any direct connection with Bethlem or the Maudsley Hospitals. Remember, this is In the Frame in holiday (and consequently whimsical) mode. Earlier this year, as regular readers of this blog will know, the Art Gallery of Hamilton played host to the works of another Canadian artist who counted Bosch and Bruegel amongst his formative influences, and advanced a searing analysis of twentieth-century society through works of acute vision and considerable technical ability. William Kurelek: The Messenger moved to the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria in May, where it will remain on display until the beginning of September 2012. Yet there was a time in the spring when it was possible to view works by Kurelek such as Harvest of Our Mere Humanism Years, Behold Man Without God, This is the Nemesis and – most tellingly – The Tower of Babel in close proximity to (well, under the same roof as) Adams’ Bruegel-Bosch Bus. If only the works of Bosch and Bruegel could have been displayed in juxtaposition to both!

In the Frame for July 2012

This month’s In the Frame was written by a work experience student at the Archives & Museum. The picture chosen will be on display in our new exhibition British Outsider Art, which runs until 3 November. Readers may also be interested in a major Madge Gill retrospective, curated by Bow Arts and on display at the Nunnery Gallery in Bow until 23 August. For more information on the exhibition, visit Bow Arts. The student writes as follows:

This picture using pen and ink on cardboard depicts what it says on the tin, a ‘Woman in Elaborate Clothes and Bonnet.’ It is completely in black and grey/cardboard colour and kind of disturbing. The woman’s elaborate clothing is made up of patterns and shapes thrown chaotically together. Also, despite the diversity of the patterns and shapes on the clothing, the woman’s face is incredibly plain and petite in comparison.

I think the reason I find this picture disturbing and confusing is because it doesn’t make much sense. It’s all mangled together and has no order or structure.

I think this style could possibly reflect back onto Madge Gill’s own life, as she went through many tragic and chaotic events in her lifetime such as being an illegitimate child, sent to an orphanage when she was nine, loss of one of her three sons, giving birth to her still-born daughter and loss of the sight in one eye.

This drawing is just one of hundreds Madge Gill drew throughout her life. When she died her son found hundreds of drawings in the boxes underneath her bed, all drawn on things like postcards and cardboard because they were cheap. She spent most of her time after she lost the sight in the left eye in bed just endlessly drawing, knitting and embroidering. She most likely did this as an escape from the hard and tragic life she had lived.

 

Woman in Elaborate Clothes and Bonnet - Madge Gill (1884 – 1961)