But Is It Art?

A couple of weeks ago, a friend and I visited the Tate St Ives. The gallery has recently re-opened after a four year programme to extend the site. The whole building had been closed for about 18 months while work was in progress, and I was really keen to see the finished space. If you'd like to read a little more about it, I've included a link here. I also wanted to purchase my Locals Pass, that allows free entry for the year. I'm not sure how many have been issued, but I think it's one of many attempts by the Tate to interact with the local community, and encourage them to visit and enjoy the space and exhibitions on offer.

The general feeling surrounding the Tate here in St Ives, is one of dislike and distrust. It is seen as elitist and up itself. The artwork contained within, is not 'proper' art. It's there solely for the entertainment of the tourists. It's aloof and distant. It's a blot on the landscape. Only last week, the letters section of our esteemed local, The Times & Echo, included two epistles attacking it. One doubting how much the town's economy depended on it, the other mocking the art within. 

Of course, the real gripe behind the letters, to my mind at least, has more to do with the uneasy alliance of local and visitor than any real dislike of the building and what lies beyond. It was wholly snubbed by a good deal of the town when it first opened its' doors, and many - including my in laws - complained that it wasn't intended for the likes of them. It was seen as an unnecessary addition to the town, and a waste of time and money.

Tate St Ives was conceived in part to showcase the rich artistic heritage of the town. As many of you know, artists have always been drawn to the area, because of the landscape and the light. It was an escape and a refuge for artists fleeing tyranny abroad during the 1930s. Nuam Gabo and Piet Mondrian both lived here for a time. It became a vibrant hub of artists working in close quarters and sharing ideas and influence. Painters, sculptors, potters, writers, composers and poets have all been inspired by their visits and stays in St Ives. It continues to inspire; indeed it inspires me everyday. I have millions of photos that illustrate it. I have journals that wax lyrical about the place. I have this blog. I have stories and poems in little notebooks, that attest to it's grip on my thoughts and feelings. My Instagram account is full of it.

There is still a vibrant artistic community here. There are several galleries, artists studios, classes, workshops and craft stores dotted all over town. There are authors and poets who live among us, or who frequently visit to get their hit of inspiration. We have a festival every September, that show cases art, poetry and music. There's a lot going on. Last summer term, Olly's year group were invited by the Leach Pottery to visit. Olly was full of the potters wheel and the amazing structures created on it. The Leach then visited his school, and made plaques with the children. Olly's has pride of place next to my own Leach pot. It has a pasty, two shells and a starfish embossed on it, and he couldn't have been prouder when he brought it home.

I absolutely adore the Tate. Just seeing it as I pass on my way to work, or while walking the dog on the beach makes me smile. It is a beautiful building, that echoes the landscape in which it sits perfectly. It is a sculptural shape, not unlike those that Barbara Hepworth created in her studio here in the town. It's not imposing, and indeed the extension is mostly built into the rock, so does not overwhelm the beach beyond. I think it is beautiful.

But what it contains within hat really takes my breath away. If you aren't a fan of modern art, then I guess it isn't the place for you. But should you ever visit St Ives, I would love for you to take a peek inside. The entrance fee is reasonable, the shop is great, the café serves a great coffee and has fantastic views. But the art. Oh my goodness the art! Heron, Lanyon, Hepworth, Wallis, Nicholson, Guabo, Rothko, Picasso, Mondrian, Frost and Hilton are all there. Huge, bold canvasses and intimate works. Sculptures that make you want to reach out to touch and caress. Art that mystifies and poses questions. Shape, form and colour that calms the soul or uplifts the mind. Pieces that challenge our concepts and ideals. Stuff that makes you take a step back in wonder. It's all there.

My favourite? Possibly the painting by Peter Lanyon in the first photograph above. It's called 'Porth Leven', and indeed tracks the fishing village from one end to the other as if one is looking down upon it and along it's length at the same time. But there's also another picture hidden within; a fisherman and his wife. He has a lamp, she is wearing a shawl. Can you see them? I remember seeing this painting when I was pregnant with Alfie. I just stood in front of it, and stared at it for the longest time. I fell in love with the shapes and the movement created on the canvas. I just enjoyed the perspective and story told within.

Of course, for some it's a load of old rubbish. It hardly compares to a Constable, for example. And they're probably right, if what you want from a painting is realism, fine artistic skill and all the rest. But this painting just pulls me in. It has a quality about it that is just out of reach of my abilities to describe. It's not a intellectual thing. It's a feeling thing. And that's the best way I can describe it; it makes me feel. I'll be honest and say that I don't have too much truck with some of the nonsense that is written on those little blurbs beside the paintings. Apart from any factual detail. I can see why one would be put off; they are a bit pompous and don't speak my language at all. But get past that bit, and you enter a magical world. And so I find the art itself very inclusive. I can make of it what I want. I enjoy some paintings for their colours alone. I enjoy the composition of others. Some leave me cold.  But some transport.

I think I am very lucky to live in a town that showcases some of the most exciting British art of the past one hundred years. And that also sticks it's neck out once in a while to show off the wall pieces too. St Ives so far away from everything and everywhere, and it can sometimes feel as if it is in isolation from the rest of the UK, and indeed the world. So something as fab as the Tate gives me a connection to it all. Some of the upcoming exhibitions include a Virginia Woolf and Bloomsbury Group retrospective and also Patrick Heron's huge canvasses. I am very excited about both.

I feel privileged to walk the same cobbled streets that many of the artists that exhibit here. I stare at the same views, picking up and turning over similar pebbles and shells. I can stand on Rosewall and look down on the town, cupping it in my hands and tracing the curve of the earth. all the while knowing that Ms Hepworth did too. I'm constantly staggered by the clarity of light, and the clear sharp quality of the land, the sea and the sky. It's like a sharp intake of breath on a frosty morning.

Tell me, what do you think about twentieth century art? Does it leave you cold, or does it inspire? I'd be really interested to know your thoughts.


Leanne xx


I should also add that I've become aware that my commenting on your lovely blog posts don't seem to be registering. I've no idea why, and I was most upset when I realised. I hope that you don't feel ignored or unread by myself. I think I've sorted the problem, but please know that I love each and every one of you and your posts, and all of your support and commentary of my space here. xxx