The Flower Book

I've taken an unexpected and rather prolonged blogging break! Things got rather busy all of a sudden - some of it planned but most of it unexpected. I thought I ought to pop by with a post, albeit a small one, just to keep things ticking over here...

A couple of weeks ago, I finished reading a biography of Edward Burne-Jones called The Last Pre-Raphaelite by Fiona McCarthy. As you may know from one of my posts a while ago, Burne-Jones is one of my favourite artists and so I thought it was worth sitting down and finding up a bit more about him.

The book mentioned this series of small paintings he did for The Flower Book, begun in 1882. He did the watercolours for his own enjoyment, rather than as a commission, using the common names of flowers as the inspiration for each scene. This concept definitely spoke to my imagination and, thanks to the wonders of the internet, I was able to find all the images when I got home from reading in the park.

So I thought I would share just a few of them here in a post. It seemed appropriate with spring having arrived, with flowers and trees all coming back to life, and with Easter just around the corner. As well, it's a harbinger of next weekend, when I'm off to see Burne-Jones' Briar Rose series at Buscot Park in Oxfordshire with a couple of my best friends. I've wanted to see those paintings for quite some time so I'm very excited! Expect to read about it all soon...

Love Letter to an Artist #3

Last weekend, I went to the current Manet exhibition at the Royal Academy. To be honest, I had been prepared to let this one pass me by. Though I do like Impressionism, I can't say that I have ever been particularly drawn in by Manet. I suppose that I haven't been exposed to that much of his work in the flesh and none of his most reproduced and lauded paintings have really spoken to me. In addition, the focus of the exhibition was portraiture and, unless it's the work of an artist I particularly love, I am generally less inclined towards straight portraiture than other subjects.

However, I was enticed into going by one of my friends, as his enthusiasm made me think again about my readiness to dismiss the exhibition. And I am so glad I allowed myself to be enticed because it was truly wonderful. It encouraged me to do some reassessment, it amused and surprised me, it presented some revelations and impressed me with its variety. It helped me to place Manet within the course of art history, particularly with regard to the hints of modernist techniques and style in his paintings. And, always a sign of a good exhibition, I was just stunned and overwhelmed by the beauty of it all.

One of the paintings which particularly captured my fancy was The Amazon:

Manet's The Amazon, c.1882 (Image source: Wikimedia Commons)

The painting shows a young female horse rider and I just thought her wonderful. Her androgyny particularly appealed to me - she could almost be a beautiful young man. Someone else might see it differently but, to me, it's rather an empowering female portrait. She feels very modern, she's dressed for action (perhaps it helps that she is cut off just below her waist, so you can't see the ridiculously impractical skirt she was probably wearing...). She looks like she knows what she's doing and you can imagine this young lady keeping up with the boys. And this all made me rather fond of her.

So, sure, I might let Manet paint me, if de Lempicka and Burne-Jones weren't available.

I'll leave you with a couple of more favourites from the exhibition.

In the Garden, 1870 (Image source: WikiPaintings)

Berthe Morisot, 1870-71 (Image source)

Love Letter to an Artist #2

Last year, I dedicated a love letter to Tamara de Lempicka. Having been to the Pre-Raphaelites exhibition at the Tate Britain twice recently, I feel compelled to follow this up with another love letter to an artist, this time to Edward Burne-Jones.

The incomplete Tristram and Iseult, abandoned by Edward Burne-Jones in 1872 (Image source)

His works were stand outs for me in an utterly wonderful exhibition. Until this, I had really only been familiar with his work as a stained glass artist (such as the windows seen in my recent post). His paintings were a revelation though. They were so incredibly beautiful, I felt rather emotional and overwhelmed. I was entranced by their exquisite detail and wonderfully rich colours.

Love Among the Ruins, Edward Burne-Jones, 1894 (Image source)

I think the Burne-Jones paintings particularly stood out because they felt, stylistically, like a breath of fresh air at their first appearance more than halfway into the exhibition. By that point, the work of some of the prevalent artists who had been with us from the beginning had begun to feel slightly hazy around the edges, too familiar and safe and sentimental. Even though Burne-Jones's most striking paintings didn't come until the last room, the appearance of his first painting caught the eye with its distinct palette and lines, which felt somehow different and bolder.

Georgiana Burne Jones, Edward Burne-Jones, 1884 (Image source)

To me, Burne-Jones seems to be heralding the beginning of Art Noveau with his figures and with the delicate and exquisite facial features of his subjects, verging towards an angularity which Rossetti would not even dare consider. His ever so slightly sinister but compellingly beautiful paintings feel almost like a whisper of things to come, a prelude to artists such as Harry Clarke and Aubrey Beardsley.

The Rock of Doom, from the Perseus Cycle, Burne Jones, c.1885-8 (Image source)

But there was, of course, more to the exhibition than just Burne-Jones. The angle the Tate went for was to illustrate how the Pre-Raphaelites were avant garde in their time, young upstarts rebelling against the conventions that had come to dominate the Victorian art world, bringing "a new beauty and intensity of vision to British art". That they caused a stir amongst their contemporaries is easily forgotten when their famous works have been reproduced a million times over and feel so quintessentially English and polite today. (And, in fact, it is even disheartening looking at the reproductions I am including in this post, as they distinctly lack the punch of the originals, as details are lost and colours muted).

The Death of Chatterton, Henry Wallis, 1856 (Image source)

As happened in architecture, the Pre-Raphaelites turned back to medievalism in an age that was being overtaken by the ugliness and dehumanising effects of industrialisation. The flatness of their paintings, sharp outlines and bright colours harked back to the style of past ages, but they embraced more wide ranging subjects. So wide, in fact, that it is sometimes hard to grasp their purpose or understand them as a coherent movement. Given that the Pre-Raphaelites seem to be so innocuous and simple at first glance, they are somehow surprisingly hard to fathom...

An English Autumn Afternoon, Hampstead - Scenery in 1853, Ford Madox Brown, 1852-5 (Image source)

The exhibition commentary does pick up the main ideas of the movement though, how these flew in the face of convention and reacted to changes in society. It takes a vaguely chronological approach, beginning with the origins and then devoting the next few rooms to different themes. It traces the gradual move into the Aesthetic movement ("art for art's sake") including the appearance of Morris and his decorative arts, before finishing with the diverging paths of the Pre-Raphaelites in the last decades of the nineteenth century.

Autumn Leaves, John Everett Millais, 1856 (Image source)

What I found most interesting about the exhibition was actually identifying the different styles of the artists that come under the umbrella of the Pre-Raphaelites, and the different directions the individual artists went in over the course of their careers. Aside from the revelation of Burne-Jones's paintings, Millais was confirmed as a favourite - from his deservedly famous Ophelia with its tragic beauty and astounding level of detail, to the wild, wide, unpopulated Scottish landscape of Chill October, via the simple beauty and natural richness of an everyday scene such as Autumn Leaves.

Chill October, John Everett Millais, 1870 (Image source)

I also confirmed that I'm really not particularly a fan of Rossetti, though he sometimes surprises me, and I discovered that Holman Hunt leaves me cold and occasionally mildly disturbed by the almost grostesque visages of the characters in his strangely cartoonish, hyper-coloured paintings. Probably the only exception to this was the lovely Isabella and the Pot of Basil. 

Isabella and the Pot of Basil, William Holman Hunt, 1866-8 (Image source)

Overall, though, a wonderful exhibition. I've come out with a better grasp of my individual Pre-Raphaelite artists, and it is a marvellously indulgent and aesthetically satisfying way to spend several hours. 

Love Letter from... Hawarden

Details from Nativity window by Burne-Jones and Morris & Co.

Okay, I have to admit that this post is rather incongruous in terms of chronology and theme. The photos are from a trip to north Wales with my family about nine months ago, rather than part of my recent Australian adventures, or even anything more recent.

However, it's rather appropriate to show stained glass on a Sunday, I guess... These particular examples are from St Deiniol's church in the small town of Hawarden, near the border. And at the moment, the Pre-Raphaelites have flooded my brain (more on that later...) so it seemed appropriate to share these with you while I was thinking of it, otherwise they would get lost forever in my backlog of pictures.

Crucifixion window by Burne-Jones and Morris & Co.

Now, I've been trying to confirm who designed each of these exquisite windows but am having a little difficulty with different sources at the moment. All I know for sure is that the wonderful Edward Burne-Jones was present here.

The top images - details from the west window depicting the Nativity - are his design, as is the east, Crucifixion window, and both were executed by Morris & Co. Of course, the only problem with these windows is that you can't expect the women in the congregation to focus on the service when the shepherds and St John are so very beautiful...

Details from window depicting Fides and Caritas

The two ladies above - Fides and Caritas - date to after Burne-Jones's death, but one source I've found claims they are his design... It's possible that they were copied from designs of his used elsewhere previously, as was the case with the Crucifixion window. By the look of them though, they are certainly Morris & Co creations.

Detail of unattributed, unidentified angel

The violinist angel above is a complete mystery (at least to me). But isn't he absolutely stunning? 

St Agnes and St Catherine below are by Henry Holiday, and they do seem to have a subtly different style and execution to them... but still utterly lovely. 

St Agnes and St Catherine by Henry Holiday

I really love stained glass, and these particular examples are so beautiful, they make me want to weep. The use of colours and the delicacy of the features are incredible and transfixing.

And if I wasn't already emotional from the stained glass, I came across this tucked away on a column on my way out of the church:

To Remember R. Charles Ricketts,

Born 1896, Died 1913

The Angel who redeemed me

Bless the lads.