I went today to see the Paul Klee exhibition at Tate Modern. I adore Klee. I went to a previous show at the Hayward, which I guess from a quick search via Google (what did we do without it?) was the one co-curated by Bridget Riley in 2002. I loved that show. I remember standing in front of a little canvas of coloured squares, painted after Klee went to north Africa and discovered colour (or rather, the full potential of colour. One presumes he was not seeing the world in black-and-white up to that point) and laughing with happiness because I liked it so much.
Klee was a genius. A pure and simple, bona fide, fully signed up, one hundred per cent brilliant genius. He could draw. Certainly after his Tunisian revelation he was a complete and utter master of colour. The works on display span a dazzling array of media and techniques. Graphic media, that is. No film, found objects, or constructions in this exhibition, just room after room of paintings and drawings, which are simultaneously disparate and united. Disparate because Klee used such a range of techniques, and palettes, and subjects. Sometimes works seem to echo or prefigure the work of other artists, though always seeming utterly original and the authentic voice of Klee. United because they are the authentic voice of Klee. Sometimes he returns to a familiar theme, or even a strong diagonal line across the canvas you recognise from two rooms and several years back, but however broad or delicate the lines, sombre or humorous the subject matter, vivid or monochrome the palette, they all feel like the output of one mind.
None of them are very large, and as Grayson Perry remarked in his Reith lectures, the largest works are not necessarily the best (though they tend to be the most expensive). I have no idea how expensive Klee is. I'm sure I couldn't afford one, on the other hand I don't think anything of his has sold at auction for anything remotely approaching a hundred and forty two million dollars. The friend I went with demanded to know why we hadn't been taught about Klee at school, and she is right, he is ridiculously unsung. He was, by all accounts, a very kind, clever, funny, perceptive, thoughtful, brave man, and those qualities shine through his works, along with the beauty and deftness of each line and fleck of paint.
He was a genius. It is a genius exhibition. Go and see it as many times as you can. It runs until 9 March 2014.
After that it seemed almost a waste to dilute the memories by going to see anything else, on the other hand, we had taken a day to go to London, not to mention the cost of train fares nowadays. Fortified by sandwiches and a sit-down in Pret, we returned to Liverpool Street via the Guildhall art gallery. They are showing Victoriana: the art of revival, though only until 8 December. It is a set of recent works by an assortment of artists, produced in response to Victorian taste and aesthetics. As someone who finds steampunk quite entertaining (not to the extent of wanting to go around dressed in a black corset, goggles and gauntlets myself, but amusing as a spectator sport) I wanted to catch it if I could, before it finished. It's been on since 7 September, but dates and locations never worked out before.
It is great fun. Not in the same class as Klee, but fun, tongue-in-cheek, laugh-out-loud fun, with some beauty, and some sombre, odd and downright squirm inducing moments. Well, the heydey of the British Empire wasn't all cakes and ale for everybody all the time. Some of the artists have chosen to play with actual Victorian art objects from the permanent collection, so that as you enter the exhibition you are greeted by a bust of General Gordon wearing a pair of steampunk goggles, which sets the tone for the rest. I wouldn't walk five hundred miles, and then five hundred more for it, though I practically would for Klee, but it's nice if you're passing.
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