Johannes Vermeer: Painter or Rebel?

It has always been muttered that playing the guitar is the work of the devil or, more famously, that rock and roll is the devil’s music.

During the Dutch Golden Age, the former was avidly believed. Whilst there were numerous superstitions bandied around during the 17th century, this one is particularly interesting as there is a wealth of Dutch guitar music and paintings of guitar playing to come from this era.

The Guitar Player, c. 1672.
Oil on canvas, 53 x 46.3 cm.
The Iveagh Bequest (Kenwood).
Courtesy of English Heritage.

In a society where superstition could cost a person their life (witch trials in the Netherlands in the 17th century were a common occurrence, the largest of which was the Roermond witch trial leading to the deaths of 64 people), pursuing or documenting an activity which was linked to the devil was a dangerous thing indeed. While music may just be music, and the guitar just a guitar, might it be said that Johannes Vermeer, in his depiction of The Guitar Player, was actually a true rebel of the Dutch Golden Age? If superstition was still as rife in 1673 as 1613 (the year of the Roermond witch trial) then, yes. Portraying an act considered to be of the devil may have been the 17th-century equivalent of David Bowie’s controversial “The Next Day” music video!

However, 60 years is a long time. It is possible that Vermeer, in this painting, was merely completing a portrait, that he simply liked music, or even that he was poking fun at a superstition which no longer held a place in society. But isn’t it more fun thinking of the great Dutch Master Johannes Vermeer as an artistic rebel harbouring an agenda to shock society?

Whether you think of Vermeer as a classical Dutch painter or a slightly more risqué artist with a bone to pick with society, you can find all you need to know about Vermeer and music at London’s National Gallery. Currently hosting the exhibition Vermeer and Music: The Art of Love and Leisure, which will be running until September 8th, this is an unparalleled opportunity to get to grips with a multisensory display. To further pique your interest, check out Johannes Vermeer by Jp. A. Calosse.

- Fiona Torsch

To Live and Die by Mount Vesuvius

There is something tragically romantic about Pompeii and her fellow seaside town Herculaneum, both destroyed by the villainous Vesuvius in 79 CE. Ironically, the volcano, initially merely thought of as a mere mountain, erupted on 24 August, the day after Vulcanalia – the festival of the Roman god of fire.

The Baker Terentius Neo and his Wife, 50-79 CE.
Wall painting.
From the House of Terentius Neo, Pompeii.

The Good, the Bad, and the 17th Century

Here we are again at the 17^th century, the time of Master Rembrandt and his many self-portraits. But, frankly, when I consider wanting to go back in time, I don’t fancy returning to the 17^th century. There were a tonne of wars. Famines in Russia, France, and Finland and a plague in both Seville and London. Shakespeare died, for crying out loud – I’m still mourning this loss.

 

Rembrandt van Rijn, The Landscape with the Three Trees, 1643.
Etching, drypoint, and engraving, 21.3 × 27.8 cm.
Collection of Marie and George Hecksher.

 

The Good:

• Jamestown, Virginia was established – which later led to a massacre of 347 English settlers by the natives (essentially score one and only)
• St Peter’s Basilica was completed
• Torture was outlawed in England (we’re still waiting for that in other countries)
• Cape Town was founded
• New Amsterdam was founded and soon thereafter renamed New York – I wonder what it would be like if it were still named as such?
• The Taj Mahal was started and completed
• The steam engine
• Bach and Monteverdi
• Rubens
• Donne and Milton
• Galileo and Newton
• (As discussed before) Ice cream

 

Rembrandt van Rijn, Self-Portrait with a Velvet Beret and a Jacket with a Fur Collar, 1634.
Oil on oak, 58.4 x 47.7 cm.
Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Berlin.

 

The Bad:

• The pilgrims arrived on the Mayflower
• Aurochs became extinct (I bet you don’t even know what they are)
• Mount Vesuvius erupted
• The Great Fire of London (which might be good because it got rid of that pesky plague)
• The Ottomans
• Louisiana was claimed by France
• Salem witch trials
• Calculus

 

So maybe a fair amount of interesting and positive things occurred, but the bad here weigh rather heavily. I’m much happier in the 21^st century, with the ability to look back smugly and mock.

 

Rembrandt van Rijn, Portrait of Hendrickje Stoffels with a Velvet Beret, c. 1654.
Oil on canvas, 74 x 61 cm.
Musée du Louvre, Paris.

 

Visit the de Young Museum in San Fran to see Rembrandt’s Century, through 2 June, whilst still enjoying all of the luxuries of today. Also, keep an eye out for Rembrandt by Émile Michel, out soon from Parkstone!

 

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Landscape Art, Depictions of a Nature That Might Cease to Exist

I’m supposed to talk about pretty landscapes and painters from the 17^th century until now that have slowly incorporated said landscapes into their paintings more and more, until finally Landscape became its own genre. And fine: nature is nice; butterflies, yay. Instead, I’d like to note that BP is sponsoring this. BP! The company that is ruining similar landscapes to the ones we’re meant to enjoy in the exhibition. Did the corporation’s discussion for putting this on the agenda include a “yeah, we better show them now before the destruction and decimation of our planet is complete”?



Meindert Hobbema,
The Avenue at Middleharnis, 1689.
Oil on canvas, 103.5 x 141 cm.
The National Gallery, London.

The extraction and ceaseless use of natural gasses and oil is doing palpable and appalling things to the environment and atmosphere. Nevertheless, as an international society, we choose to ignore the annihilation of our ecosystems and extinction of animals so that we can drive Hummers in already over-crowded cities and wear our sweaters in excessively air-conditioned rooms. We live in deserts but have lush, green lawns. We have large, rarely used but immaculately maintained personal swimming pools. We need BP as much as BP needs us and I think it’s time we become less dependent on one another.



Jules Dupré, Sunset after a Storm, 1851.
Oil on wood, 47 x 56.5 cm.
Musée du Louvre, Paris.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s amazing that such a large, well-known corporation is supporting the arts. I live in continual fear that one day I will wake up and society will not be able to provide music/art/drama classes for students and that museums and theatres will close and never open again because the skills will no longer be developed. But does it really have to be BP? Surely this is the most hypocritical exhibition to have ever existed.



J.M.W. Turner, Calais Pier, with French Poissards Preparing for Sea: an English Packet Arriving, 1803.
Oil on canvas, 172 x 240 cm.
The National Gallery, London.

I am argued out. How about you walk or cycle over to the Tate Britain to enjoy breath-taking landscapes in Looking at the View? Rather, sit in your own backyard or a park and read Landscapes by Émile Michel.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Don’t just do something – sit there.

In theory yoga is this beautiful, wonderful, spiritual experience that is meant to cleanse mind, body, and soul. In practice yoga causes a slew of frowned upon words to come flying out of my mouth at record speeds. It is a deep, dark torture which we, as masochists, inflict upon ourselves day after day of shaking cores, trembling arms, and ready-to-collapse legs. We stretch ourselves in ways we never thought possible, only to discover they are possible, but will we be stuck this way forever?


“Son, if you don’t finish this portrait soon…”
Édouard Manet, Mr and Mrs Auguste Manet, 1860.
Oil on canvas, 110 x 90 cm.
Musée d'Orsay, Paris.

The idea of sitting still long enough to have my portrait painted makes my muscles ache in a way that I’ve only known through Downward-Facing Dog (the most bastardly position of all yoga forms). Though I have flirted with the idea of recreating the nude sofa scene in Titanic, I’m just not sure I could take the prolonged torture of not only remaining still, but also keeping my face from contorting or appearing as bored as I imagine I would feel. (Fun fact: Leonardo DiCaprio did NOT sketch Kate Winslet; those are James Cameron’s hands!)



Édouard Manet, Street Singer, c. 1862.
Oil on canvas, 171.1 x 105.8 cm.
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Without portrait painters and patient subjects, prior to the 1840s, we would have no idea what people of the past looked like. While, for some people, we are likely better being unaware of their looks (or odours) – considering the slow advancement in personal hygiene and photoshop – it would be more difficult to learn from the fashion faux pas of history.


Now, that’s a portrait I could easily pose for.
Édouard Manet, The Dead Toreador, probably 1864.
Oil on canvas, 75.9 x 153.3 cm.
Widener Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

I certainly would not recommend being painted in Downward-Facing Dog; all of your blood would pool in your brain and you would assuredly die. See Manet: Portraying Life at the Royal Academy of Arts London from 26 Jan through 14 April for some postural suggestions concerning your next portrait painting. Also admire the intense richness of Édouard Manet’s many portraits in Manet by Nathalia Brodskaya.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

“Death and Taxes”

Death:  one of life’s greatest mysteries, and therefore one of people’s greatest fears.

Whilst many peoples and civilisations turn to religion and faith to answer the question of the meaning of life, and the purpose of death, and whether or not life after death exists, the prospect of the actual process of dying causes fear and trepidation.

Although we cannot know for sure what the exact experience of death holds for us, many people do take comfort in the knowledge that heaven, or an afterlife, awaits them.  Why, therefore, is the prospect of death such a scary one?


Rembrandt
The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp, 1632.
Oil on canvas, 169.5 x 216.5 cm.
Mauritshuis, The Hague.

Perhaps it is the fear of leaving the known, of leaving people behind, or the fear of pain in passing.  Whatever it is, one thing is certain: death is one thing we cannot escape.  As Brad Pitt discovered, in his extremely good turn as Joe Black in Meet Joe Black (a straightforward title if ever there was one), the only two things certain in this life are death and taxes.

Unfortunately, the probability that death will greet us in the form of Brad Pitt is extremely remote (I’m not giving up hope though....), so let us turn away from Hollywood’s interpretation of death, and take a peek at how past celebrities interpreted it.

Being an art blog, these celebrities will of course be artists such as Rembrandt and, perhaps surprisingly, Monet.  Both of these artists painted death, or dying, as a means of trying to understand what it meant.

Rembrandt painted his famous Anatomy Lesson as a means to pay homage to both the doctor (Nicolaes Tulp), as well as to the science of dissection.  Death had become a teaching tool, allowing others to learn from the bodies left behind.


Claude Monet
Camille on Her Deathbed, 1879.
Oil on canvas, 90 x 68 cm.
Musée d’Orsay, Paris.

However, Monet’s interpretation of death is a lot less clinical, and we can really feel the depth of emotion that the artist is putting into his work.  Camille on Her Deathbed is a painting of his wife – and it is as if he is trying to come to terms with her passing, and trying to understand why she has left him.  It is this emotion which resonates through the ages, and is something which I think everybody can identify with.

Ultimately, I think death is something not to be feared, but when life is cut short it is the hardest for those that are left behind.  But as we mourn the loss of our friends, loved ones, life-long companions, let us also celebrate the time that we have been able to share together, and be thankful for the privilege of being able to know them.  And finally, let us not forget, but keep their memories alive with us.

To discover how the mystery of death has been portrayed over the years, the Wellcome Collection, London, is the perfect place to start.  Death: A Self-Portrait is the exhibition which is getting everybody talking, so why not find out for yourself what all the fuss is about? On display until the 24^th February 2013, this is one collection that you do not want to miss!  If you would like to discover more about how the masters treated the subject of death and the afterlife, look no further than Art of the Devil by Arturo Graf.  Alternatively, to discover what Rembrandt was all about, check out Harmensz van Rijn Rembrandt by Emile Michel.

Beer vs Art; which would you choose?

Picture this: it’s 1876 and you’re a dapper young heir to the Guinness name, fortune, and business – beer! You recently turned 29 years old, just bought your brothers’ shares of the company because you’ve got big plans for it, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. When it comes to culture and art, you’ve ensured that you are just as important as the Rothschilds, J.P. Morgan, and Henry Clay Frick. However, rather than collect a harem of courtesans and countesses, you’ve chosen to collect paintings of such ladies from the Belle Époque.

 


Sir Anthony van Dyck, Princess Henrietta of Lorraine Attended by a Page, 1634.
Oil on canvas, 213.4 x 127 cm.
Kenwood House, The Iveagh Bequest, London.

 

Is it because you’re an Irishman in England and long to feel closer to your neighbours? Is it honestly because you love your third cousin more than anyone else out there? (Did I mention that you married her three years ago and she mothers your three sons?)

 


Thomas Gainsborough, Lady Brisco, c. 1776.
Oil on canvas, 235.2 x 148.5 cm.
Kenwood House, The Iveagh Bequest, London.

 

I think that many a woman would have doted on you, especially after considering your immense fortune (though, we’re not all gold diggers), your heartfelt donations to urban renewal and medical research, and your keen eye for art and skill in Gainsborough, Rembrandt, and Van Dyck (amongst many others). The Guinness brand isn’t especially my cup of tea (or beer, har har), but any man that takes value in art and its history could definitely have a shot at courting me, or any other self-respecting, well-cultured woman.

For the first time ever, Edward Guinness, 1st Earl of Iveagh’s Kenwood House collection has crossed the pond! See Rembrandt, Van Dyck, Gainsborough: The Treasures of Kenwood House, London now through 13 January 2013 in the Milwaukee Art Museum. Find yourself infatuated with his collection? Check out Anthony van Dyck by Victoria Charles and Harmensz van Rijn Rembrandt by Émile Michel today!

 

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Goya: A model for ‘those that don’t succeed, try try again’?

Francisco de Goya: 18^th Century Spanish bad boy? Overlooked Political Commentator?  A sufferer for his art?  Yes, yes, and yes.  Goya is all of the above.

Ok, let’s start with the ‘Bad Boy’ charge.  This aspect of his personality may be tracked back to his time studying under a master popular with Spanish Royalty of the time.  It’s fair to say that he and his teacher didn’t exactly see eye to eye, which resulted in his receiving poor results in his examinations.  Later on, he experienced further disappointment when he submitted entries to the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in San Fernando.  These were rejected, not once, but twice, in 1763 and 1766.  His ensuing fame and popularity could perhaps be taken as a lesson for rejected X-Factor auditionees... or anyone really who has been rejected/rebuffed/had the door slammed in their face.  It can still happen!


The Family of Charles IV, 1800, oil on canvas, 280 x 336 cm, Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid

However, this initial period of rejection and disappointment shaped Goya, I believe, to be very independent and perhaps outspoken.  Exhibit A: the very daring portrait of Charles IV of Spain and his family.  Daring, not in the sense that it was risqué, but rather that it was very politically indiscreet.  Art historians today believe that this is an extremely satirical work, as it is thought that this particular portrait was intended to reveal the corruption of the country under the rule of Charles IV.  Rumours have abounded that, during his reign, it was actually Charles’ wife Louisa who held the real power.  Goya’s portrait seems to confirm this, as he centres Louisa in the middle of the group portrait, instead of the norm of focusing on the King.  Such flagrant disregard for rules and etiquette was no doubt intentional, and almost certainly provided some amusement to those dissatisfied with the monarchy of the time.

As for suffering for his art, Francisco de Goya suffered acute hearing loss – and in fact became fully deaf – during the period of 1792-1793.  There is much speculation surrounding the reason for this, some say that it was due to a series of small strokes, and others blame the lead in the pigments he used – saying that it poisoned him and caused his deafness.  Whatever the reason, it is true that Goya’s temperament changed, and his work became a lot darker.  We can date ‘Yard With Lunatics’ to around 1794, directly after he began to experience his deafness, and the difference in the work and the themes are striking.  No longer satirical or politically motivated, the work takes on a bleaker atmosphere, channelling the introspective feelings of fear and social alienation of the artist himself.  Despite his growing sense of isolation, Goya continued to produce several important masterpieces, including the ‘Black Paintings’ series.


Yard with Lunatics, 1793-1794, oil on canvas, 43.8 x 32.7 cm, Meadows Museum, Dallas, Texas

So, key lessons to be learnt here: if at first you don’t succeed, try try again.  If you do succeed, don’t be afraid of saying what you believe...even if it isn’t popular with the Royal court.  You never know, it could well survive and become a talking point centuries later.  When met with adversity, face it head on – even if you are a bit more surly than usual, it’s ok, it’s good to express yourself.  After all, you may end up like Goya and have a film award named after you (the Goya Awards anyone?).   And last, but definitely not least, stay away from lead!  Lead poisoning generally doesn’t bode well for anyone.

To discover a long line of Spanish artistic genius, you need go no further than the British Museum in London.  The exhibition (from the 20th September 2012-6^th January 2013) focuses on the Renaissance to Goya, so why not discover the inspiration that is Diego Velazquez; an inspiration for artists everywhere, including Francisco de Goya.  Take in the changing Spanish style, from Vicente Carduchio to José de Ribera. Discover the thematic differences in the prints and drawings over two centuries.   Alternatively, check out ‘Goya’ in Mega Square, written by Jp. A. Calosse.

Let them eat ice cream!

The 17^th century was a busy one. Full of territorial disputes around the world, English colonisation of the Americas, Japanese isolation, the fall of the Ming Dynasty in China… I could go on. But I won’t. More importantly, the world was (still) heavily focused on religious art, though many artists started to branch out and become a bit more narcissistic, here’s lookin’ at you Rembrandt and your many self-portraits.

Do you know what else came to be in the 17th century? Ice cream. You (probably) read it here first! No proper recipe for ice cream, though various other versions previously existed in Persia, China, and Italy for example, appeared until 1674 in France.

 


“Welcome back! Could we get a little creamed ice after this lovely meal, JC?”
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, Supper at Emmaus, 1601.
Oil and tempera on canvas, 141 x 196.2 cm.
The National Gallery, London.

 

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Surely the invention of ice cream stirred a deeper belief in God and Jesus Christ – who or what else could inspire such a cold, creamy, delicious treat? Could it be that artists of the time were so overjoyed with appreciation that they could find no other way to express their praise except to paint on the canvasses closest to the Heavens at the time: ceilings?

 


“Bless you, child. Go forth and enjoy ice cream; but eat slowly or you will get a brain freeze.”
El Greco, The Saviour, 1610-1614.
Oil on canvas, mounted on wood, 100.4 x 80.2 cm.
Museo del Greco, Toledo.

 

The Musée Carnavalet is exhibiting The Colours of Heaven now through 24 February 2013, a collection of paintings, drawings, and engravings devoted to Paris’ many churches. Don’t worry; you won’t have to crane your neck to look upwards too much. And if you’d like to see more religious devotion, check out the beautifully illustrated ebook, Christ in Art by Ernest Renan.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Die Olympischen Spiele in London – Zeit für Kultur

Wer bei den Olympischen Spielen ausschließlich an Sport denkt, liegt völlig falsch. Nicht nur der Sport und die Kunst, sondern auch die Musik, die Literatur und die Religion waren wichtige Pfeiler der antiken Kultur, die seither eng miteinander verknüpft sind.
Der Ursprung der Olympischen Spiele lässt sich bis weit vor Christi Geburt zurückverfolgen. Bei den antiken Spielen stand, anders als heutzutage, nicht der Sport, sondern die religiöse Feier im Vordergrund. Die Wettkämpfe wurden zu Ehren des Göttervaters Zeus und des göttlichen Helden Pelops ausgetragen. Die Eröffnung mit verschiedenen kultischen Zeremonien und dem festlichen Einzug der Athleten in den heiligen Hain von Olympia dauerte einen ganzen Tag. In den darauf folgenden Tagen wurden, wiederum anders als heutzutage, neben den sportlichen Wettkämpfen auch musikalische Dichter-Wettkämpfe ausgetragen, die bei den Zuschauern denselben hohen Stellenwert einnahmen.


Tizian, Aktaion überrascht Diana beim Bade, 1556 - 1559.
Öl auf Leinwand, 184,5 x 202,2 cm, National Gallery of London.

Auch bei der aktuellen Olympiade in Großbritannien gibt es, parallel zu den sportlichen Spielen, ein landesweites Kulturprogramm mit Ausstellungen, Installationen, Musik-, Tanz-, Film- und Theateraufführungen, und Vieles davon sogar unentgeltlich.
Ein Highlight dieser Kultur-Olympiade ist die Tizian-Ausstellung „Metamorphosis: Tizian2012“ in der Londoner National Gallery, deren Mittelpunkt drei GemäldeTizians bilden, die zum ersten Mal seit dem 18. Jahrhundert wieder gemeinsam ausgestellt werden. Die drei Gemälde behandeln Episoden aus dem in Ovids Metamorphosen geschilderten Mythos der Jagdgöttin Diana. Zwei dieser Darstellungen stellen das tragische Schicksal des Jägers Aktaion dar, der auf einem Streifzug durch den Wald ungewollt die Jagdgöttin Diana und ihre Nymphen beim Baden in einer Quelle überrascht, deswegen von der Göttin in einen Hirsch verwandelt und von seinen eigenen Hunden zerfleischt wird.

Den Werken Tizians werden in der Ausstellung Arbeiten zeitgenössischer Künstler gegenübergestellt, die zeigen sollen, das Tizian, einer der bedeutendsten Maler der venezianischen Hochrenaissance, bis heute eine Inspirationsquelle darstellt.
In einer einzigartigen Kooperation haben u. a. die drei zeitgenössische britische Künstler Chris Ofili, Conrad Shawcross und Mark Wallinger das Bühnenbild und die Kostüme für drei neue, durch die Gemälde Tizians angeregte,Ballettaufführungen des Royal Opera Houses entworfen. Die zu großen Teilen eigens für diese Ausstellung in Auftrag gegebenen multimedialen Werke entstanden in Zusammenarbeit mit Dichtern, Komponisten und Choreographen.

Wenn Sie nun selbst von Tizian inspiriert werden möchten, empfehlen wir Ihnen neben dem Besuch der Ausstellung „Metamorphosis: Tizian 2012“, die noch bis zum 23. September 2012 in der Londoner National Gallery zu sehen ist, das im Parkstone Verlag erschienene großformatige Buch Tizian, das mit vielen qualitativ hochwertigen Abbildungen eine hervorragende Inspirationsquelle darstellt.

-C. Schmidt

Titian: not overthrown by the Olympians

The National Gallery is exhibiting three of Titians most famous paintings from his Metamorphosis series, as well as reactions to it by contemporary artists, poets and choreographers, as part of the Cultural Olympiad, a “summer”-long festival in the UK celebrating Britain’s cultural landscape. Nowhere does it say that the events, acts, performances and exhibitions of this Cultural Olympiad are for British self-promotion, but with a bouncy castle Stonehenge and 37 Shakespeare plays performed in 37 languages, not to mention the patriotic opening ceremony, you have to assume that promoting Britain and her diverse cultural landscape is indeed the aim of the Games.

I was surprised, then, to see that Titian was chosen to feature in this cultural festival, given his tenuous, if at all visible, link to British art history or the Olympics themselves. I would even be willing to eat my own words and suggest that even Turner would have been a better candidate. Yes, Titian was an inspirational and iconic painter, whose legacy lives on nearly half a millennia after his death and whose use of colour changed the course of art forever, but he’s still an Italian Renaissance painter who has been dead for 435 years.


Titian (Tiziano Vecellio), Diana and Actaeon, 1556-1559.
Oil on canvas, 184.5 x 202.2 cm.
The National Gallery, London.


Titian (Tiziano Vecellio), The Death of Actaeon, c. 1565-1576.
Oil on canvas, 178.4 x 198.1 cm.
The National Gallery, London.

Whatever the justification for its being featured, Titian’s Metamorphosis series hangs alongside pieces it has inspired from contemporary artists, in order to show Britain’s multi-layered cultural presence in the world and its ability to draw inspiration from many sources past and present to create something wonderful and novel. But I fear that the aim of this exhibition may well backfire, as these contemporary artists will constantly be compared to some of the most famous paintings by one of the most revered artists of all time.

I can’t help but feel that instead of celebrating British high-culture and interest in the arts, this exhibition has wound up paying homage to a great master, whose involvement in the cultural landscape of Britain has been less notable than others. Wrong time, wrong place, National Gallery – could it be that they are trying to get their money’s worth out of their £95 million investment?

You can see these three Titian paintings (Diana and Actaeon, The Death of Actaeon and Diana and Callisto) together for the first time since the 18^th century at the National Gallery, London. The exhibition Metamorphosis: Titian 2012 will be around until 23 September 2012, or you can get this Titian book featuring many more of his masterpieces.

Doodling with Picasso

The British Museum has managed to wheedle the donation of all one-hundred of Picasso’s etchings which make up the Vollard Suite – no, not the name of a room in a curiously themed hotel, but a massive series of prints created in exchange for a couple of paintings, including two by Cézanne and Renoir.

The critics are clambering all over each other to fawn, simper and gush about the prints and to offer their unsolicited opinions about what the lines and shading could possibly mean, squabbling like children over who can kiss the most arse. I agree that the series does reveal the inner workings of the mind of the artist during a transitional period, but only insofar as my absent-minded phone-doodling offers an insight into my thoughts at that particular moment in time. Ok, so a picture of a stick man and a flower might not be quite as impressive as a Minotaur with breasts, but doodles was what they were, no more, no less.


By Pablo Picasso, aged 43. He drew this horse whilst nattering on the phone. FACT.
Little Horse, 1924(?). Indian ink on paper, 21 x 27.2 cm, The State Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg.

Trading a couple of paintings by known masters for prints by a living artist was a bit of a gamble, but the trick certainly paid off. Well, not for poor old Ambroise Vollard, who died the same year the prints were completed, but a few generations and changes of hand later, and the set is now worth a staggering £900,000. The fools! Picasso’s status as an excellent artist is well-deserved, but just because he is a good artist does not mean that all his art is good art. Once the buzz from this discovery evaporates, I wonder whether they will realise that they’ve been had.

In case the British Museum is interested, I have a few prints for sale, entitled “Tree”, “Swirly Pattern” and “To Do List”. Each one costs £4,500, a bargain at half the price of a Picasso print!

If, contrary to my warning, you want to see these scribblings, the British Museum is holding this exhibition for free until 2 September 2012. If, however, you’d rather see some of Picasso’s real artwork, why not get this Picasso art book, instead.