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  • Writer's pictureBeyond the Canvas

Updated: Feb 14, 2022

"I think that most work that’s made by black artists is considered to be about blackness. [Laughs.] Unlike work that’s made by white artists, which is assumed to be universal at its core." - Carrie Mae Weems


How many assumptions do we make every time we look at a piece of art? How much of of our own experience do we project? And does the artwork then become more about what we want it or need it to be? Weems' statement is eye-opening and it made me reflect about my way of approaching art made by black artists.


The Kitchen Table Series is a fundamentally universal body of work in that it tells the story of all women, not just black women. Weems takes us on an exploration of the female experience seen through the domestic space, where women have belonged, ruled and suffered for thousands of years. As I was scrolling through these beautiful black & white images, I was struck by the intensity of each of these moments; the things that are being said and, perhaps more poignantly, the ones that are left unsaid. Weems calls it a war and in each snapshot she tells a story of stereotypes, social constructs, relationship and family dynamics with the burden of their expectations, the everyday duties and struggles. Weems breaks down those domestic walls and allows us to take a peek into her own investigations inside these spaces. What we see is a picture that most women may recognise as painfully familiar, as if looking in a mirror.


Thirty years on, these seminal staged snapshots are still current, and I suspect they will be 30, 60, 90 years from now. They are not just universal, but also of historical significance as and they speak to every woman about female representation, the reality of her own life and the role she occupies at home, as well as in society.




All photos © Carrie Mae Weems.

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Updated: Feb 14, 2022

Ever heard of that theory according to which trees are immortal? No? Then you clearly do not know me very well. Of course trees are not immortal, but I choose to believe that they are. The reason is quite simple: in a world where man keeps devising new and more effective ways to destroy nature, the fact that some trees have survived for thousands of years is a pretty good indicator that they are being rather successful in their quest for immortality.


The first work I saw upon entering the dimly-lit gallery was a stunning Robert Longo, which I had already encountered and fallen in love with in Moscow in 2016. Oh joy. This is not just a tree Longo has drawn, this is a spiritual organism, a tentacled being that lives and breathes in sync with us all. In fact, I believe this may well be our own beating heart.


The exhibition is an overall pleasing exploration of the depth and complexity of our relationship with the arboreal world. The artists' visions are illustrated through a well-balanced mix of sculptures, paintings, photographs and videos. Some of the pieces, e.g. the above-mentioned Longo, Doig's almost abstract wood and Rondinone's reclaimed olive tree, are truly magnificent. After months of staying at home, getting lost in the Hayward Gallery (finally in the company of some of my best friends) proved hugely rewarding.


On reflection, I must however denounce what feels like an element of inconsistency in the delivery of the exhibition's messages. There is a disconnect between the show in the Lower Gallery, which is a stunning, if at times slightly repetitive, visual celebration of the majesty of trees. While the exhibit in Upper Gallery does not shy away from highlighting the devastating impact of human activity on the life of trees, it does fall short of representing the real emergency as effectively as it could and probably should have. For example, the subject of deforestation deserved to be illustrated more explicitly, and I felt the glowing embers of Roxy Paine's charred trunks looked too domestic in their desolation and failed to evoke the scale of the emergency.


Just so you know, this show has done nothing to diminish the strength of my irrational belief. Trees are immortal and that is the hill I'm going to die on.


Robert Longo Untitled (Sleepy Hollow), 2014

© Robert Longo 2020.


Peter Doig The Architect’s Home In The Ravine, 1991

© Peter Doig 2020.


Tacita Dean Crowhurst II, 2007

© Tacita Dean 2020.


Toba Khedoori Untitled, 2018

© Toba Khedoori 2020.


Rodney Graham Gary Oak, Galiano Island, 2012

© Rodney Graham 2020.



Eija-Liisa Ahtila Horizontal – Vaakasuora, 2011

© Eija-Liisa Ahtila 2020.


Mariele Neudecker Much Was Decided Before You Were Born, 2001

© Mariele Neudecker 2020.

Ugo Rondinone cold moon (2011)

© Ugo Rondinone 2020.


Jennifer Steinkamp Blind Eye (2018)

© Jennifer Steinkamp 2020.


Roxy Paine Desolation Row, 2017

© Roxy Paine 2020.

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  • Writer's pictureBeyond the Canvas

Updated: Feb 14, 2022

Today I'm celebrating my first trip into central London after 5 months of mostly staying at home. The Titian: Love, Desire, Death exhibition, now extended to January 2021, is unique and should not be missed in that in reunites for the first time all the six Titian paintings inspired by Ovid’s ‘Metamorphoses’. They are, of course, wonderful and everyone should go see them: book your slot, turn up 15' early and wear a mask - it all worked really seamlessly for me. But I now realise it was something bigger and deeper that lured me to Trafalgar Square. The truth is I had missed being inside a museum, this one in particular, and today was like coming home to a place of wonderful familiarity and much needed comfort.


Museum-going patterns increasingly resemble ritualistic experiences of cathartic quality, and I believe most of it is a response to the architecture. Whether borrowing from the monumental structures of the past or making a bold statement via cutting edge contemporary shapes, museums often look like places of worship. It is only natural that the behaviours we adopt when we visit them mimic religious rituals. In the case of the National Gallery, the love I have for the collection is such that I needed to be physically and spiritually reunited with some of my favourite paintings and the people in them (some details below). A post I saw yesterday on the Gallerie dell'Accademia's instagram account very timely reminded me to defy my shrinking attention span and to always do the artists and the paintings justice by taking the time to properly observe and appreciate what's in front of me. Like a faithful kneeling before the altar, today I did exactly that.


The pandemic forced the National Gallery to close its doors for an unprecedented 111 days. In the United States, it is predicted that a third of museums may never open again. The institutions that will be able to reopen are facing drastically decreased revenues and are likely to be operating in the red, resulting in substantial layoffs and a devastating impact on the community. And while I am aware we alone cannot save the museum industry, I feel this quote by the illustrator Maira Kalman sums up my feelings and intentions: "A visit to a museum is a search for beauty, truth, and meaning in our lives. Go to museums as often as you can."


"Darling, I am home."

Bronzino, detail from Portrait of a Young Man, c. 1550-55


Titian, detail from Portrait of a Lady (La Schiavona), c. 1510-12


Andrea del Sarto, detail from Portrait of a Young Man, c. 1517-18


Bronzino, detail from An Allegory with Venus and Cupid, c. 1545


Titian, detail from Portrait of Gerolamo (?) Barbarigo, c. 1510


Giovanni Battista Moroni, detail from Portrait of a Lady, c. 1556-60


Paolo Veronese, detail from The Dream of Saint Helena, c. 1570


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