Instead, I drifted quickly through a series of rooms filled with a lot of work that didn't catch my attention. The first four rooms on her early career left me cold. I know the developmental stuff is essential in a major retrospective, but knowing more didn't do me any favours. I saw an early version of today's marketing-savvy modern artist, more about creating shock and disrupting the status quo than creating inspired beauty. (I freely admit that this statement reveals my prejudice against ... and some would argue lack of understanding of ... modern art.)
We're confronted early on with some of those highly-sexualised flower paintings. Sorry, but the enormous floral clitoris just hits me as a juvenile attempt to shock. The New York cityscapes are striking, but I didn't think they were that much better than the Art Deco-style paintings that finish off the 1930s look at the recently renovated Lansdowne Club's dining room. Great interior design, but high art?
Things improve when O'Keeffe gets out of the city. There's an enormous canvas of two luscious red poppies that delivered the awe and emotion I wanted from the whole show. Many of the other canvases were smaller than I expected, and lacked depth. Little drew me in or invited lingering study; I found her colours surprisingly flat, closer to great graphic design than great art.
I was most keen to see her works from the American West. With the Grand Canyon such a recent memory, I have a greater appreciation of the magical colours of the desert. In trying to photograph it, I got a sense of how difficult it is to capture the nuances, the shadows, the vast spaces. It's a landscape better suited to art than photography. Indeed, these were the works I liked best, wanting to clamber through that frame and explore the alternate reality of those shadowy valleys and mesas. And yet, the things that held my attention for longest in this room weren't O'Keeffe's work, but a couple of black and white photographs from her buddy Ansel Adams. These moved me more than anything else in the exhibition, and are the things I'm likely to remember longest.
Near the end there's a version of the cloudscape that was my childhood favourite at the Art Institute. Chicago's is vast, hung above a light-flooded, grand stairwell so that you actually have the feeling of soaring as you hold on to the upper landing railing and gaze over it. The show's version is more modestly-sized, on a normal wall. Without the setting, it just doesn't inspire the magic.
I wanted this show to move me past the cliches. Instead, it pushed me towards them. O'Keeffe's work reproduces well for posters, bags and household items. It's pretty. It's a perfect interior design choice if you're trying to convey Art Deco, or flowery femininity with a modern edge, or a sophisticated version of the American West. But I wanted more.
Drinking and Dining at Tate Modern
My general ambivalence towards modern art means I've only covered the Tate here once before in almost ten years of cultural coverage. Gaugin didn't fare that well under my criticism either.
I've been in the building frequently over the years, however. It's a popular event venue with spectacular views over the Thames towards St. Pauls. I have many friends who are members as much to get access to the 5th floor members' lounge, with its stunning rooftop balcony, as to see the art. We spent the early evening appreciating the view as the long light of the setting sun peeked through clearing clouds, making streets and buildings that had been slicked by an earlier rain shimmer. It was as beautiful as anything we'd seen inside.
We headed upstairs one floor to the Kitchen and Bar for dinner. The Tate has just opened a massive new extension called the Switch House, which is topped by a new restaurant. They're clearly trying to push visitors there, as the old Kitchen and Bar no longer accepts reservations and is doing much less promotion. It used to be tough to get a table here for a Friday night; last night it was half empty.
The Switch House restaurant is much more expensive and has gotten terrible reviews, both for poor room design that squanders its views and small portions of average food at unreasonable prices. Meanwhile, the Kitchen and Bar continues to deliver what I've come to count on it for: gastropub style classics with a resolutely English provenance to match the Tate's original British mission. With a stunning view. Unlike the Switch House restaurant, which reports say only has windows at shoulder height, meaning you can't see anything when you sit down, the original restaurant has floor-to-ceiling glass walls offering the whole sweep of the city between Waterloo and Tower bridges. I don't think there's anywhere else along the South Bank you can get that view while dining for such a reasonable price. You can even indulge your inner modern artist with pots of crayons and colouring-book style table covers.
No comments:
Post a Comment