Death: A Self-portrait at the Wellcome Collection

Introducing the cast members of this exhibition is a quick roll call: the Grim Reaper himself. This exhibition isn't literally about representations of Death personified, it also features dead people, things made of bones, things made to look like dead people (or parts of), bookplates (ex libris) and a variety of other thematic parts.

As is the Wellcome's wont, it mixes art/science and historical/contemporary. This collection uses Richard Harris' collection as the mainstay here- he was an antique print dealer, so there are a particularly large selection of those included. It's thematic, barely, but the main theme sledgehammers the smaller room themes out of the way.

And what an inclusion the prints are- there are three large series of prints (one by the criminally underexhibited Otto Dix, along with Goya and Callot), and a good number of Durer copies- although the originals of some of these are on at the Northern Renaissance exhibition at the Queen's Gallery.

Aside from these, there is a great set of other objects to look at. The contemporary sculptures are very interesting; there are also some fine Dutch paintings including a Vanitas, some netsuke, medical pictures, Day of the Dead items, and random death-themed photographs.

Morbid is not the mood that this exhibition engenders either, it is surprisingly light despite its often grisly premise.

Bronze at the Royal Academy

This exhibition does what is says- it consists of objects made of the alloy bronze, and information on techniques. It’s a valuable curatorial theme, as it lets items from Picasso’s baboon to ancient Luristanian objects be displayed in the same space, with the same focus.

Sure, there are plenty of Classical bronzes here, but the strata the RA is excavating is not chronological but by taxonomy (figures, animals, objects, reliefs, gods, heads). This means we get exciting juxtaposition, and get to see work from many continents.

This is a curious haul for that reason- many of the items don’t have known artists or exact timescales, so instead of the biographical focus we get archaeology instead. The Dancing Satyr ( displayed in the gloomth of the first room so it can be seen in the round) is a perfect monument to discontinuity, covered with the patina of age and now only to be interpreted formally. Many other objects are the same, and the information has a light touch (unlike the exhibition catalog, which is formidable historical scholarship, sliced up by region).

These odd relics bring the more modern work into focus, and provide some of the jewels in this collection- the Seeland chariot with its sun disc, the Ife leopards, and the head of a king from Thrace and the tiny figure of Ptah. There is a lot of metal on display too- much Classical nakedness (like Bellini’s relentlessly misogynistic giant Perseus, a very homoerotic Hercules, and a bronze Laocoon) and some actual pornography, in the form of satyrs in a surprisingly athletic embrace.
 
A brave break from the normal biographically centred approach from the RA, and one that has yielded results.

Bexleyheath: Red House vs Danson House

Not many boroughs have two historic houses so diametrically opposed within half a mile of each other than Bexleyheath.

William Morris’ Red House (now under the National Trust’s aegis), designed by Phillip Webb under Morris’ supervision, looks very staid to us now. 

It is very red, and L-shaped around a pointed well. There is only the colouring of the brick and porches as decoration, along with the curves above the windows. These days it resembles a Victorian vicarage- although that probably wasn’t far away from Morris or Webb’s thoughts when they were designing it. It is a relentlessly human house- small in scale, with a non-formal garden that seems to bleed into the house itself. It seems harmonious from all angles, including the inside, which is charmingly decorated (it has some anachronistic Morris-isms like the wallpaper, but they still fit). It is slightly incongruous that a house so fitted for people to live in has become a museum.

From the Red House, it’s a walk along Bean Street to its opposite- a Classical museum somehow built as a house- Danson House. 

This is a Georgian formal country house restored to its former glory by English Heritage. It is also smaller inside than it looks, with formal hall complete with Grand Tour alcoves, dining room with baroque paintings, a magnificent oval staircase, classical features, and an organ, and stuffed full of what Georgian slave money could buy. This is all the Red House is not- paint and large-scale formality outside, and ostentatious shows of wealth and mythological allegory within. It is even built on the ridge just to make sure everyone can see it, and so the house can see the formal gardens and lake over the Ha-Ha. The restoration work on the house has been meticulous thanks to some fortuitous interior watercolours of the time (sadly not on display there yet). It also had a contemporary exhibition based on The Yellow Wallpaper, which was worth a look too.

The only feature these two houses share is a modern one- the Tea Room, which probably would have driven both sets of owners apoplectic. Of the two, I’d take Morris’ small orchard over the former 600 acres of Danson House anyday.

Enslaved- a belated review

I’ve had Enslaved since it came out (I bought it partly because I thought I had time to play it, partly to support Ninja Theory, and partly because I like the Monkey story) , but only played it properly recently.

Despite it being relatively old in this generational terms, it’s still very much worth a go. Enslaved has many attributes that point to the future of the medium. The characters (there are basically three) have a well-realised dynamic through subtle writing and strong acting, and it touches upon themes like devotion, purpose, revenge and love as part of the adventure. There are many clever touches using the environments (like having a section of a game within a theatre playing Shakespeare, the motorcycle zen, the use of NYC, the parallels between the mountains and Chinese painting) that make it deeper and more allusive than most action-adventure games.The lack of conclusive ending is also a good thing-perhaps designed for a sequel that never happened- but in context wraps things up nicely.

Technically, and from a design and mechanical point of view, it has annoyances. The texture level of detail pop on the PS3 is awful (and bad to see in cutscenes), the enemies are repetitive and the combat functional. The unlock system, involving picking up glowing orange spheres in the environments adds a nuisance level of ludonarrative dissonance. It would be like going to see an exhibition of abstract impressionist paintings and finding that the artist has also snuck in their own copies of old Alma-Tadema works, just to prove they could paint academically if necessary. We already know that Enslaved is a game- it doesn’t need collectibles to prove it- just unlocking the upgrades via level completion would have been fine.

Narratively, it’s very little to do with the Monkey legend, but that’s fine- it does its own thing, so aside from some similar characters and some initial scenario aspects (a headband of control, a flying cloud, a staff) it’s basically unrelated.

Still, it’s a strong core narrative in a decent world, and doesn’t linger too long. It’s no classic, but there are many elements that point to a bright future.

Museum of London: Docklands in 300 words

The Museum of London: Docklands (is that a spreading brand?) is a folk museum, set in the least folk setting imaginable- the inhumanity of Canary Wharf. It is in a converted warehouse, with post-and-lintel wooden beams and organic wooden floors.

The content is pure local- it is genuinely about the Docklands and the cultural history of the area. It’s not a big museum, and has very little that could be called ‘art’, with the exception of some Yoruba and Benin casts, some rather nice chintzes, and some great model ships. There are quite a few paintings, but almost all are in the not-very-exciting category.There are plenty of interactive screens, audio-visuals, acted scenes and a whole section including the sights and smells of Sailortown.
The museum is a classic collection of power and property objects- it is about trading, colonialism, wealthy owners, oppression, the importing of resources of other countries, war, and the building of Empires. This isn’t explicitly addressed, but is pretty clear once you see what is on show.

The museum tackles three difficult subjects very tactfully, all things considered. The slavery and sugar goes for it in head-on and doesn’t shy from semiotics, and has genuine community involvement. The section on the canary wharf redevelopment puts both sides of the story too, and makes us remember that there were communities there, once.

The third section- the second world war- is extensive and evocatively covered, showing the genuine destruction and terror.It’s a good thing that it is well done- the museum is closed to house the German olympic admin team over the summer.

The docklands museum won’t set pulses racing over blockbuster exhibitions, but it is educational, well-curated and full of helpful staff as well as being free- all of which make it worth a visit.

Ballgowns at the V&A

Fashion is a slightly overlooked area- although, fortunately, not at the V&A, who have just re-opened their fashion after a refurbishment.

And very pretty it is too- the vertical space slightly dwarfs the displays but makes it a fine space, with some impressive hanging ceiling domes.

The starting temporary exhibition in this space is Ballgowns- British Glamour from the 1950s. The title, frankly, says it all- it is a selection of ballgowns, and some accessories. The usual suspects are represented- Norman Hartnell, Hardy Amies, Vivienne Westwood, John Galliano (only one, as I suppose he isn’t correct at the moment), Alexander McQueen, the house of Worth, as well as many others.

So this is, at heart, an unabashed study of the aesthetic. There is some context shown as to why these items got made and for whom, and how this has changed- but only little cultural consideration. If I was to criticise, it would be this aspect which is underplayed- how do these items and ideas trickle down to other fashion? Has an awareness of glamorous gowns to sexualise women changed their use? Not much of this is discussed, neither is the technical craft- we know who designed them, and often who for, but not often how.

I found the most telling comment on this (and one of the finest items) is Cindy Beadman’s fairly tale dress- I read this as a savage satire, a ballgown promising a saccharine happy ending.

The other shame is that these items are living textiles- so seeing them on mannequins and not moving on the human body is an inevitable pity- it is partly like reading the score rather than listening to Beethoven (thanks for that one, Mr Barthes).

However, reading these garments as purely aesthetic makes for a focussed exhibition. It is also organised by colour, which neatly sidesteps the chronological/typographical issues- with historical periods mixed on the inside, and contemporary up top on the massive balcony space, displayed somewhat less conventionally.

The other massive regret on this one is Alexander McQueen- he has two items here, and both are awesome. It’s a sad loss, framed by the stone angels of his 2010 collection dress.

The Body Adorned at the Horniman Museum

This is a classic of doing too much or too little- an exhibition that promises but doesn’t deliver. The Body Adorned is about the dressing of Londoners (and others)- but if you didn’t know the theme, you’d be hard pressed to guess.

It has several parts- a selection of the Horniman’s anthropological objects, a multimedia show, and a collection of modern photographs and clothing. Neither of these are uninteresting-they just aren’t joined up, and the display so light on challenge that nothing comes from it.

Victorian and colonial anthropology has a bad rap- and rightly so- and this does little to address it. The figures greeting you whilst you come in are examples of this- preserved by Empire from people around the world- but how do they link with the modern slideshow of Londoners and teens? Why are they below the slides? Are they less important? More importantly, why are they here, and how are we meant to read them?

This remains throughout the exhibition- are these anthropological artifacts? If so, then why so little context? This makes them little better than the Victorian displays- a cabinet of curios for your delectation.

And if they have aesthetic values- why not display them as such? Can we not appreciate them as voyeurs- must they be studied?

The modern slideshows and photos are voyeurism of the highest kind- and interesting as such- although they have a self-selection problem, the films choosing those deemed film-worthy and edited. The photographs and ‘modern’ wardrobes are also representative of those willing to take part in such a survey. Why these people?

The answers, unfortunately, are political- they represent the London modern capitalism wants to see- and the Olympics want to represent. A London not of communities, but of individuals making their own way and doing their own thing, entitled and buying. Everyone together and bought in to the status quo. Even the homeless man is edited and portrayed like it is a lifestyle choice. No communities were named, harmed or even challenged in this exhibition.

The Horniman is better than this exhibition- if you want to see modern Londoners and what influences them, you’d be better off in the cafe.

Damien Hirst: For the Love of God

For anyone who thinks that setting is unimportant, Hirst's gap-toothed skull has the last laugh. In its dark strongroom on the Tate Turbine floor, the ritual is as much part as the artifact. There is a queue, timed entry, security guards and the room is pitch black- reminiscent of the crown jewels.

These precursors set the mood nicely- in a glowing box in the middle of the strongroom, the diamond-encrusted skull sits like a holy relic. Even here, the presentation is crucial- the polished glass of the box reflect the image, so the sparkle seems to go on infinitely in mirrors.

And the piece itself? An awesome memento mori. The skull itself is surprisingly small, and beautifully asymmetric. The diamonds sparkle wonderfully, especially the third-eyes pieces on the forehead- it looks like the skull of a god, meditating, looking back at itself.

The combination of exquisite wealth and vanitas make this hugely richer in many senses in death.

Mondrian and Nicholson: Parallel Lines in 300 Words

The last two visits we’ve paid to the Courtauld have coincided with London Fashion Week, which has its pavilion in Somerset House courtyard. There seemed to be little interest from the fashionistas outside in the paintings upstairs (although Mondrian’s line and form seem very relevant) but the basement cafe was like a packed sauna.

The Courtauld is a pretty small gallery punching above its weight, and this special exhibition only takes up two large rooms at the top. It’s good to see focussed smaller exhibitions though, and this is no exception.

The thesis is pretty self-evident and provable- Mondrian and Nicholson corresponded, so their abstract styles were well-known to each other and developed alongside. The exhibition basically has two aspects- a large amount of biographical items (letters, photos) and the pictures themselves.

I’d never seen a Mondrian abstract before, and I found them pretty shocking. The balance is key in Mondrian’s work- some of the canvases are so stark that the remaining elements hit the line between a strangely-harmonious balance, and feeling so close to toppling over I almost felt they could jump off the wall. I think having one around the house could give me vertigo.

Nicholson, on the other hand, has a much softer approach. There’s no lack of geometry, but I found them soft in their curves and tonal approach. I’ve never seen a Nicholson I didn’t like, even the hand-cut early circles are rather charming. Nicholson seems to be more intuitive in his shapes and the 3d forms than the almost oppressive empirical purity of Mondrian. I’ve no idea how either of them worked in a conceptual capacity, but they’s the feeling I got standing in front of them.

This exhibition had two of the key characteristics of both works- a rather humble purity and discipline.

Skyrim: I used to be an adventurer...

...but my flow got broken.

My experience with Skyrim has been long and protracted, but it’s always ended up in the same place- a feeling of dissatisfaction. I can appreciate the work done, but there has been a transition when it stops being fun.

So what is this transition? Have I not been playing it right? It’s taken four serious plays to identify the moment- and what the difference is.

Initially, Skyrim has been extremely immersive, but it gets to the stage when small elements overwhelm the large- and these small elements become busywork instead of fun. I’ve got a massive amount of satisfaction from the exploration, combat and many narrative elements. But these is a moment when this gets taken over by overcomplexity, repetition and suspension of disbelief problems- but it’s a subtle transition. I’ve found that what starts as an exciting quest chain subtly morphs into a fetch and carry, or progress slows until some other element is done. What should be a stroll around town becomes a jog to go to all sorts of different points, to perform various menial tasks. This forces quick travel- which in turn detracts from the fantastic experience of seeing the world- so it ends up as a series of loading screens, interspersed with bouts of selling goods/disenchanting/smithing/mining/the occasional fight.

In short, it stops being a fun experience.  Instead of giving me a feeling of satisfaction, discovery and challenge it feels like an endless task list.

And the crossover point is subtle. In fact, I didn’t even notice the first few times. I just felt, well, that it stopped being worth playing. I stopped wanting to do those things in my quest log.

So isn’t the answer, for me, to just do what I like. Well, yes and no. To do these things involves doing the other parts- until they chip away at the experience. To get the more exciting narrative, you need to go through the factional quests. To explore the areas, you need equipment and skills which cost gold, which needs gathering. To feel fully in control of combat requires levelling and perks. The internal satisfaction of the experience is replaced by the game patting you on the head for completing tasks- a shift from the intrinsic experience to the extrinsic.

If this was an art gallery experience, it would be like seeing the pictures, then being forced to see reproductions of those paintings over and over again- the superfluous eventually overwhelms the impact.

Death of the Author in Video Games

And this isn't a moan about difficulty in Alan Wake...

I recently read Roland Barthes’ essay The Death of the Author (http://www.tbook.constantvzw.org/wp-content/death_authorbarthes.pdf), and started thinking about the applicability of this to video games as a medium. I’m not the first to think about this, but it’s an important viewpoint.

Games have had the privilege for a long time of having anonymous creators- a publisher screen or a creator logo- and the nature of the medium has forced the player to interact with the game in their own way. Is this Bartes’ birth of the reader in action?

There’s a thrill that the reader (in this context, the gamer) can interact with the game without foreknowledge and create their own text (again, in this context, their own experience).

This is a privilege rarely experienced- the ability to interpret and interact without too much associating. Knowing, say, that Pikmin is based on Shigeru Miyamoto’s own garden doesn’t add anything to the experience- it channels the reader’s own thoughts and limits their potential experience. Even finding this out after playing and after creating your own experience about Pikmin limits your own experience- it’s an association that could reveal, but then makes assumptions about the meaning.

And, unfortunately, this ability to experience is being lost as those involved become higher profile, and commodities or brands themselves.

Apsley House by Night in 300 words

Number 1 London these days sums up much of England- a Classical frontage, seemingly designed as an add-on to a tremendously busy road. Armed with little knowledge of the Duke of Wellington (for it has his collection) and even less knowledge of the house itself, we went to an evening viewing.

And it doesn’t disappoint on the main fronts. It has plenty of Arthur Wellesley’s spoils of war- including a dining set in the shape of Egyptian monuments, a little armoury of trophy weapons, French banners, an excellent set of paintings, a shockingly colourful porphyry table and a couple of Canovas. Robert Adam makes a couple of brief but memorable appearances too- anyone familiar with Kenwood will recognise the barrel-ceiling, apse and window arrangement of one of the rooms.

It’s hard to see Napoleon in the same light after seeing Canova’s effort- a gigantic classical nude of Bony, with a small bronze fig leaf covering his modesty, sits at the bottom of the stairwell. It’s both sublime and ridiculous- in itself a fitting tribute to a man who ruled over much of Europe by force of personality.

Speaking of light, the evening tour is seen in candle-bulb light. Aside from a canny opportunity to sell visitors a small led torch, it also gives some idea of what the place must have been like at the time. Gloomy but also rather magnificent. The mirror room, vast shining silver and the colours of the striped wallpaper come through a haze of softness.

It’s not the ideal time to see the paintings themselves, but lets us see how the previous occupants would have seen them. Velasquez is well-represented, and the Duke liked the Dutch masters. There are precious few battle scenes- it’s more a reflection of Wellington’s taste than a shrine to him.

Entelechy

I sent my Soul through the Invisible, 
Some letter of that After-life to spell: 
And by and by my Soul return'd to me, 
And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell"

The Rubaiyat 
By Omar Khayyam 
Written 1120 A.C.E.