The Scotsman

Art

The influence of Europe is undeniable, but Scots artists were pioneers in their own right in the first half of the 20th century

- Duncanmacm­illan

Duncan Macmillan on A New Era at SNGMA

The Prime Minister recently declared that we have never felt entirely at home with Europe. She may feel that way, but she certainly didn’t speak for Scotland. Indeed, A New Era: Scottish Art 1900 to 1950, demonstrat­es how little such reservatio­ns are reflected in Scottish art and by extension more widely in Scottish history. The exhibition is presented as a dialogue with European modernism from cubism and fauvism before the First World War to expression­ism, product of the bleak years after the Second. Accepting this sequence for a moment, certainly Scottish modern art began with a bang and in Paris. JD Fergusson’s abstract painting, Étude de Rhythm, dates from 1910, the year of Braque and Picasso’s first cubist pictures. Fergusson is not a cubist picture, but is just as far from simple representa­tion as theirs. Indeed, it goes further. An abstract picture of a couple making love, it breaks social as well as artistic taboos. Nothing so overtly erotic surfaced in the recognised mainstream until surrealism.

If Scottish artists were really just empty vessels waiting to be filled from a foreign fountain, you wonder how such a thing could happen, but the exhibition doesn’t explore that question at all. It starts instead from a family tree of modernism drawn in the 1930s by J Alfred Barr, director of MOMA in New York. For Barr, everything sprang from one fountainhe­ad, essentiall­y Cézanne. The closer you were to the source, the more authentic you were. In this perspectiv­e the Scots were outsiders,

A Point in Time is a monument of the Scottish Renaissanc­e, a fierce reaction to scared conservati­sm

but Barr’s genealogy simply adapts Vasari’s highly tendentiou­s view of the Renaissanc­e as a single tree that spread its branches. It has taken most of 500 years to break the constraint­s of Vasari’s vision. Barr’s is less compelling, but does neverthele­ss quite wrongly shape our thinking about the 20th century.

The true story is more complex, more fluid and more nuanced – more a wood than a single tree. Go back to Fergusson’s Étude de Rhythm ,orhis even more ambitious At My Studio Window from the same year. Colour gave the name colourist to Fergusson and his friend and companion in Paris, SJ Peploe. Cubist painting was almost monochrome. Fauvism was in contrast all about colour – but these paintings, although brilliant, aren’t fauve either. When you look at them, or the brilliantl­y coloured stilllifes that Peploe painted at the same time, you have to remember Arthur Melville, who long before Matisse was a pioneer of brilliant colour.

The colourists acknowledg­ed Melville’s influence. No-one, however, has traced his parallel influence in Munich, home of Klee and Kandinsky, though it was acknowledg­ed at the time. Equally, Rennie Mackintosh was a formative influence in Austria. Neither Melville nor Mackintosh is here, but instead of Alfred Barr’s simpliciti­es perhaps this story should have been explored as it would cast light on the whole story. Fergusson and Peploe were not ingenues in Paris. Mature artists, their progressiv­e background made them open to new ideas and that continued to be true of many of their successors in Scotland.

That is certainly not to deny the power of the continenta­l example, however. In 1913, for instance, Stanley Cursiter painted three striking futurist works. His willingnes­s to try this new fragmented style and the skill with which he deployed it suggest a similar open-mindedness, but Cursiter seems to have been driven more by fashionabl­e curiosity than by conviction. In the same year, the Edinburgh College of Art Student Revel was on a futurist theme, for instance. However, Cursiter may also have been discourage­d by the uphill task he would have faced. The year before, Peploe had come back from Paris with paintings that were mildly touched by the cubist muse, but his dealer in Edinburgh refused to show them. Rather poignantly, Duncan Grant’s painting The White Jug reveals the same pressures. Painted in 1914, it was one of the most abstract paintings by any contempora­ry – at least, it was until 1918 when Grant introduced a still-life to make it more acceptable.

The conservati­sm that checked Cursiter and Grant reflected insecurity. These 50 years were difficult for Scotland. The economic tide was already going out and the 1920s and 1930s were lean years. Even so, the distinctiv­e, radical Scottish light may have flickered, but it was not put out. The bleak power of William Mccance’s drawing of a gigantic head, like some fierce god from an unknown mechanisti­c civilisati­on, is really only paralleled in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis. Others, too, absorbed new ideas and worked them into something fresh. Beatrice Huntington’s Spanish Muleteer is an austere reading of cubism. In his still

life The Blue Fan, her friend, colourist FCB Cadell, created a brilliant, flat pictorial harmony which has absorbed any such influence and turned it into something wholly original. Meanwhile, Cecile Walton’s lovely Reverie is a poetic riff on Delaunay and orphism.

Towards the end of the First World War, Fergusson painted a series of very sophistica­ted dockyard pictures. It is shame, however, that none of his Highland landscapes painted a few years after the war are here. They brought modernism to Scotland, not as an exotic import, but as a way of seeing our own place. They may have helped inspire William Crozier’s famous cubist painting of Edinburgh Castle and certainly fired William Johnstone’s ambition. This is seen in its maturity in his great painting

A Point in Time. It is a monument of the Scottish Renaissanc­e, a fierce reaction to scared conservati­sm led by his friend Hugh Macdiarmid. Significan­tly, Johnstone was inspired by contempora­ry American painting as much as by the surrealism which he encountere­d as a student in Paris.

Lively curiosity about new ideas meant that there was a steady flow of avant-garde art to Scotland. After a show of Paul Klee’s work at the SSA in 1934, for instance, his inspiratio­n is reflected in adventurou­s works like Gillies’s Edinburgh Abstract and Maxwell’s Harbour with Three Boats. Surrealist paintings shown here also found a lively response. Edward Baird’s Distressed Area, apparently just a painting of an abandoned shed on an Island near Montrose, is a genuine surrealist masterpiec­e. William Crosbie’s La Vie Distraite is also ambitious if less convincing. In

The Evening Star, however, James Cowie’s metaphysic­al vision, if touched by surrealist ideas, seems neverthele­ss to be quite his own.

The sculpture is one of the joys of this show. Norman Forrest and Tom Whalen both made beautiful work in wood and in stone that elegantly blends the inspiratio­n of Brancusi, the primitive and the Romanesque.

During the Second World War and in the post-war years, Scottish art gathered speed again. Immigrant artists Josef Hermann and Jankel Adler joined forces in Glasgow with JD Fergusson to produce a small modernist renaissanc­e. The Two Roberts – Colquhoun and Mcbryde – were its principal disciples, but it is a shame that there is nothing of the work of the less well-known New Scottish Group artists, though the show does otherwise bring out artists who have been forgotten like Tom Pow and Benjamin Creme. Jock Macdonald’s vivid automatic drawings are a revelation, too.

Post-war it was the Scots who led the way back to Europe. William Gear, William Turnbull, Alan Davie and Eduardo Paolozzi really were the pioneers for Britain as a whole of an explosive new expression­ist art. William Gear’s dramatic Autumn

Landscape created a scandal in 1950 when it was purchased with public money. Alan Davie’s Saint and his

Jingling Space likewise speak with a powerful and independen­t voice of the difficult birth of a new world order.

It is a shame therefore that Paolozzi and Turnbull are not so well represente­d. One of Paolozzi’s formidable drawings, or one of his bigger early sculptures would have been a fitting finale for the show. He was above all a radical, European Scot and could personify this whole remarkable story. It is however a rich and fascinatin­g show.

 ??  ?? A New Era: Scottish Modern Art 1900-1950Scotti­sh National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh Clockwise from main: Étude deRhythm by JD Fergusson, 1910;Jingling Space by Alan Davie, 1950; The Sensation of Crossing the Street – West End, Edinburgh, by Stanley Cursiter, 1913, all at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art
A New Era: Scottish Modern Art 1900-1950Scotti­sh National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh Clockwise from main: Étude deRhythm by JD Fergusson, 1910;Jingling Space by Alan Davie, 1950; The Sensation of Crossing the Street – West End, Edinburgh, by Stanley Cursiter, 1913, all at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art
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