Karel Appel

Karel Appel

Untitled

circa 1974

     What could this be? Maybe it is the profile of a hippo's head. The shininess of the impasto makes the animal's skin look wet, as if it has just emerged from water. Its right ear is accentuated with thick, fairly concentric swirls of oil paint that lead into the high jaw bone, with a blob of opaque black to mark the centre of the ear. If this is a hippo it must be a baby, or at most an adolescent, as its over-sized ear and pudgey snout suggest young age.

     From the ear we are led into a plane of roughly-applied red which composes the hippo's right cheek and lower jaw. Above this are two black lines that cut deeply into a layer of teal-coloured paint, the shorter line acting like a closed eyelid and the longer one stretching to the snout and curving under the top lip, suggesting a wide nostril. The grey brushstrokes underneath clearly define a roundness coherent with that of a hippo's chin. The animal's shoulders are teal and taut, with the highlights of a light green suggesting an unseen light source.

    A strong quality of this painting, perhaps the strongest of all, is that it is secretive. It imprints various images in peoples' minds, each radically different from one to the next, without revealing its true form. While its medium is heavy and loud this painting nevertheless speaks a language that is silent; it uses visual communication to ask us what we see, to make us doubt ourselves, and as a result we become confused. In asking, "Is that really what I see?", we inherently become open-minded, and in the end we may conclude that the artist painted something very strange. 

     As a matter of fact, could this be a rouged hippo smelling the likes of a huge raw artichoke?

Edward A. Wadsworth

Edward A. Wadsworth

S.S. Jerseymoor

circa 1918

     Lollipops, cricket balls and electricity poles. The restraint of colour in this woodcut allows our imaginations to run wild, which is the exact intention of this artist. Wadsworth was commissioned during the First World War to decorate English military ships so as to make them difficult to spot by the enemy. His 'dazzle' designs (geometric or linear compositions painted onto the sides of vessels) proved very successful, and in this piece we can see why.

     Here we are placed in the position of the enemy. At first glance it is nearly impossible to discern any accurate or recognisable shape. As German Underwater boats we lose time while trying to survey the scene ahead. The layout of this piece implies that we are lost in a water jungle, one that constantly shape-shifts and hides threats to our survival. But only when we take the time to study this do we make out a pair of roofs and possibly two or three hulls of ships. This clever scheme of camouflage, as applicable now as it was then, allowed many ships to escape from or target the Germans before being attacked themselves.

     But are these ships resting in the dockyard? Or are they coming towards us, if they even are ships? During war, let alone an ambush, the time it takes to pose these questions means the difference between life and death. And whether in monochrome or bright colours Wadsworth conveys perfectly how the eye can be tricked too easily into confusing weapons for things less sinister, like grenades for game balls.

Armand Guillaumin

Armand Guillaumin

Paysage de la Creuse

circa 1919

     The use of pastel in this composition is excellent. It gives off an audiovisual effect: its texture, dusty and powdery, helps to accentuate details like flickering leaves and sunny spots, but it also helps us imagine the literal way in which the landscape was drawn. The individual sticks of resin- or gum-bound pigments, of bright blues and reds and browns, were scratched and rubbed onto this paper; the idea that a finger once glided itself through and across these waves of colours gives off a sense of immediacy and genuine contact with the surface, like the hull of a boat dragging itself along the sandy base of a stream. For some people these analogies denote particular sounds.

     The layout is divided into three tiers. The foreground shows the widest part of the river, shadowed in the wake of something large and unseen; the ripply face of the water is dappled with peach-pinks, blues and occasional blacks, assuming an out-of-focus look. After this we are inadvertently led into the scene. Our eyes meet the middle-ground shores and the clear reflections of the sky; the soft, fluffy tree on the left, speckled with beautiful red blooms, cranes itself upwards and throws a strong red shadow to its right. As the river wraps itself behind and beyond the tall central tree and its little copse of admirers we finally reach the climax. Guillaumin makes us wonder what we would meet on the other side: another shore? A little family of fish? Or a long stretch of mountainous skyline, the peaks of which skim whipped clouds and warm sun rays?

Giovanni Battista Moroni

Giovanni Battista Moroni

Il Tagliapanni

circa 1565-70

     The gaze of this man is contained in his raised lids and dark brows, and in his set jaw outlined by the cock of his head. His hands bear the knowledge of a trained tailor, and his torso is formed for us by the clean-cut design of his high-necked chemise.

   It is interesting to think that at the time of this painting's execution this young man was looking at his portraitist. But now he stares at us, his perpetual audience. His glance evokes thought, but his hands, though at a pause, evoke movement - that which is quick for the sake of efficiency, as well as skilled for the sake of maintaining a reputable business.

     The grey-black back wall and the black cloth laid on the table act as indicators of what one should pay most attention to. They are intentionally bare and boring, while the clothing and stature of the man are fine and eye-catching. His scissors act as a subtle arrow or pointer to what he depends on as income, and his body takes on the classical form of an upwards triangle. While these details are typical of centuries' worth of depicting personages it is important to realise that Moroni was one of the first portraitists to idolise all kinds of portraiture, whether it be of the 'higher' class folk or of the 'lower', such as this tagliapanni. He placed all men and women (more or less) on the same level in his paintings, highlighting their features and feats, no matter how different from one another, through details like poise and compositional structure. 
     So why do so many of us pause to return this man's stare, to look at him? Because without even knowing his name we nevertheless relate to him; he is one of us. He is proud to be ordinary and he bears this with dignity.