Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool

Chris has already blogged our trip to Southport which involved a train to Liverpool to view the Walker.

There was a Matisse show featuring his art books, principally Jazz, explaining how it was made and printed. Liked that a lot, real art and craft. Then one moved into a gallery of work by John Kirby that was all Catholic guilt and general tedious misery.

And that display of unfulfilled Northern lust led into viewing a consummation devoutly to be wished: the splendid Titian Diana and Actaeon saved for a grateful nation by an unknowing public, no doubt to pay off the death duties of some poor bankers (actually the estate of the lords Bridgewater).

A point on accessible texts. The information board next to the Titian quoted the relevant passage from Ovid's Metamorphosis, but used the Addison translation in the Dryden edition. Of course it is most excellent though in an 18th century cadence. However, can I make a case for using the more accessible Ted Hughes 1997 translation?

So he came to the clearing. And saw ripples

Flocking across the pool out of the cavern.

He edged into the cavern, under ferns

That dripped with spray. He peered

Into the gloom to see the waterfall -

But what he saw were nymphs, their wild faces

Screaming at him in a commotion of water.

And as his eyes adjusted, he saw they were naked,

Beating their breasts as they screamed at him.

And he saw they were crowding together

To hide something from him. He stared harder.

Those nymphs could not conceal Diana's whiteness,

The tallest barely reached her navel. Actaeon

Stared at the goddess, who stared at him.

She twisted her breasts away, showing him her back.

Glaring at him over her shoulder

She blushed like a dawn cloud

In that twilit grotto of winking reflections, ...

I won't spoil the story for those who want to read more 'Tales from Ovid'.

The most interesting show for me was a retrospective on the prestigious biennial John Moores Painting Prize for being a top artist, and young. So they'd collected Hockney, Bratby, Doig and others, displaying rather fine work in such a manner that it was unnecessary to say 'this is the prize to win', but nevertheless, they did.

Whilst walking round I only photographed this case of exuberant art deco crocks by Cliff next to a load of really worthy looking Leach ware. Apparently there's some Liverpool connection.

There was in one 19th century gallery a most startling contrast of academic politicised art past and The Future. It was some hack's (Benjamin West) Death of Nelson at Trafalgar juxtaposed with a late Turner of the 1840s, a landscape in yellows [sorry, can't find an image]. One all cliché details, composition, beautiful finish to demonstrate the respect The Nation owes to its Greatest Naval Hero. [I understand that we damn near lost the battle because when Nelson's death was known, the British sailors and marines stopped fighting, whilst the French and Spanish re-grouped. Admiral Collingwood had to rally the squadron to carry the victory.] The Turner is just colour and form. It isn't about anything. Perhaps it's only intelligible after Fry's Post-impressionist exhibitions - 70 years later. The viewer is expected to do some thinking, rather than know about history and such.
And so into the night of central Liverpool.

Just needs some denizens grouped beneath the over-pass to call it Night Hawks After the Diner.