art
Women body and image, between symbol and revolution. Review by Carla Scarano.
Donne corpo e imagine, tra simbolo e rivoluzione
Women body and image, between symbol and revolution
Municipal Gallery of Modern Art
Via Francesco Crispi, 24 Rome
24/01—13/10 2019
The ideal venue of the Municipal Gallery of Modern Art in via Francesco Crispi in Rome displays a vast range of pictures and sculptures from the Capitoline collections retracing the interpretation and development of the female form and her artistic personality from the end of the nineteenth century until today.
Apart from a great few names such as Artemisia Gentileschi, Rosalba Carriera, Frida Kahlo and Benedetta Cappa, women artists are a minority in the art world of the past and still struggle today to find their place. Most of the works on display testify the strong presence of the female form in all periods as a naked body studied and explored by the male gaze. Ambivalence and contradictions characterise the depiction of women as an angel figure, embodiment of the ideal mother and wife, or, on the contrary, as a threatening temptress, source of all sins. This reflects the ambiguities of the twentieth century, a time of social changes prompted by the two world wars when women showed their commitment at patriotic, social and civil levels. This commitment was acknowledged by political authorities but unfortunately no laws supporting women’s rights were promoted before the second half of the century. In fact, in Italy women were granted vote only in 1946, divorce was introduced in 1970 and abortion became legal in 1978.
The exhibition shows in different sections how women are depicted in art from the personification of the sacred and profane love to focusing on the beauty of her naked body and the Freudian exploration of her psyche. This reveals a crisis that runs across the twentieth century expressing a desire for change and emancipation often in contrast with the traditional roles of mother and wife.
In pictures such as ‘Wise Virgins and Foolish Virgins’ by Giulio Aristide Sartorio (1890) the two groups are separated in two different sections of the triptych highlighting two different aspects of femininity. A similar vision is in ‘Sacred love and profane love’ a pencil and watercolours exquisite piece by Senio (1900), in which a Red Cross nurse wrapped in a dark cloak is opposed to the vanity of a coquette in a flapping flowery dress. Naked women playing in Baths and interiors offer their voluptuous bodies to the viewer in provoking poses apparently oblivious of their identity as in Alessandro Pigna’s ‘Frigidarium’ (1882), Adolfo De Cardis’ ‘Naked woman with roses’ (1910), Camillo Innocenti’s ‘The Sultana’ (1913), or Istvan Csok’s ‘Corner of a studio’ (1905).
The beauty and gracefulness of woman’s naked body is celebrated in intimate contexts that underline its powerlessness but also its value which has allegorical and aesthetic importance in the art world. It personifies the skill of the artists and conveys their emotions expressing vitality and fragility. They also comment on the female role as in ‘Malice’ by Tommaso Bertolino (1950) where the naked composed figure with her arms crossed under her breasts communicates modesty rather than malice. The beautiful ‘Naked woman’ by Arturo Dozzi (1926) exposes her flawless form in an act of donation that is a defenceless surrendering to the viewer. Raffaele Costi’s ‘Two naked women’ (1945) is more unsettling in the expressionist depiction of two stylised nudes back to back, provoking and self-sufficient at the same time. ‘Bathers’ by Attilio Torresini (1934) is reminiscent of Manet’s ‘Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe’, but no man is present here, it is an isolated all women’s world.
In the section Gazes of the Soul, elegant middle class women communicate their emotions through their ‘looks’ captured by the artist in an exchange between viewer and sitter creating empathy. In the portraits of Amedeo Bocchi, Nicola Fabbricatore, Lionne, Marius Ledda, Antonio Donghi, Ildebrando Urbani and Vittoria Morelli there is an attentive study of the subject that highlights distinguishing personalities that seem to suggest an alternative to traditional roles. It is the representation of the intellectual woman with distinctive ideas and autonomous look. A similar view is in the works inspired by Freudian theories. Solitary women are depicted in silent interiors absorbed in their thoughts, withdrawn in their own inner space. It is an intellectual response to the classical exposed nakedness and to the roles of angel and temptress. Paintings such as Vincenzo Irolli’s ‘Waiting’ (1915), Felice Casorati’s ‘Susanna’ (1929), or ‘Old cards’ by Baccio Maria Bacci (1953), testify this alternative vision that reveals a crisis of the traditional roles and a search of identity.
One of the highlights of the exhibition is ‘The Doubt’ by Giacomo Balla (1907), a portrait of his wife Elisa, where seduction and curiosity mix in the woman’s gaze turning to the viewer. It is an invitation and a provocation to see more deeply beyond stereotypes. A similar view is found in Mafai’s ‘Women undressing’ (1934), picturing dynamic disharmonious figures that challenge the stillness of classical pictures.
The contemporary works of Giosetta Fioroni, ‘The Other Ego’ (2012), Amparo Sard, ‘Part ¼’ (2014), Paola Gandolfi, ‘Ambra Jovinelli’ (2000) and Luigi Di Sarro, ‘Untitled’ (1975), are subversive and thought-provoking. They reject the traditional roles subtly exposing the traps that imprison women as in the wired cage wrapping a crouched woman (Di Sarro), in the brick pattern that covers the woman’s figure (Fioroni), or in the nude outlined in pierced paper (Sard). the works reveal the consequences of the diminishment and exclusion from leading roles women suffered throughout centuries.
A collage of videos from the archive of Istituto Luce (Cinecittà) recreate the feminine image of the twentieth century. Different models of women are presented though motherhood and care of the family are primary. Women are seen from the male point of view, they are advertised in magazines and films and emulated by the female audience. They can be intellectual and mundane like Edda Mussolini, the Duce’s daughter, or the personification of the ideal mother like Rachele Mussolini, his wife, or Mussolini’s lover, Claretta Petacci. The queen Elena embodied love for the nation donating her golden wedding ring to the cause, a role model for many Italian women. Besides, there are the mondine (workers of paddy fields), seasonal workers in the rice fields of Po Delta and Po Valley who longed for stable works in factories that could grant them an independent life.
During Fascism the attitude towards women was contradictory, she was supported during pregnancy and rewarded for her role of mother and wife, as big families were funded by the state, but her place was at home. It was a ‘libertà vigilata’ (freedom under surveillance), as the commentator of the video clip cleverly expresses. The interviews interestingly include both women who joined the fascist Republic of Salò and women partisans.
A visible change starts only after the second world war when women acquire the right to vote. They fought for Italian liberation during the war and gained the right to speak and participate in the political debate. The first MPs are Teresa Noce, Nadia Spano and Rita Montagnana, a minority compared to the vast male participation but a good start. The 1960s and 1970s are the years of the revolution. Feminist groups fight in streets, squares and assemblies to demonstrate in favour of divorce and abortion. Monica Vitti, Caterina Caselli and Gianna Nannini are icons of women’s emancipation. The exhibition recalls the movement in the display of feminist posters such as ‘Le streghe son tornate’ (the witches are back) and women metaphorically crucified by history. Social challenges and gender selection are still problems of today in spite of all the fights won by feminist movements. Guerrilla Girls wonder if women need to be naked to enter museums still today and how long it will be so.
The bookshop at the entrance of the museum features books by Serena Dandini, Lilli Gruber, Luciana Littizzetto and the memorable Alda Merini. They are the new role models of today’s society proposing different views in their stories, interviews, examples of women undertaking autonomous creative paths, as well as poetical and political visions. A perceptible alternative towards equality and change.
Carla Scarano © 2019.
The Revisited Myth: archaic masks of Basilicata. Review by Carla Scarano.
Il Mito Rivisitato: le maschere arcaiche della Basilicata
The Revisited Myth: archaic masks of Basilicata
Casina delle Civette, Villa Torlonia (Rome)
09/04 – 28/04 2019
The mesmerising Casina delle Civette (House of the Owls) hosts an intriguing exhibition of masks by Nicola Toce inspired by the Carnival traditions of Basilicata, a region in Southern Italy.
The House of the Howls itself is a permanent exhibition of the artworks of Paolo Paschetto, Duilio Cambellotti and Umberto Bottazzi. They are mainly sketches and drawings for stained glasses, some of which decorate the windows of the house. The prince Giovanni Torlonia transformed the 19th century Swiss Cabin in his residence adding huge windows, porticos and turrets, and decorating it with artistic tiles and stained glasses. The stylised howl that gives the name to the house is a repeated pattern created by Duilio Cambellotti in 1914. Cesare Picchiarini was the glass maker, one of the best at the time. Iconic fine glasses are in the Room of the Swallows, with the ceiling painted with swallows in relief matching with the beautiful window depicting black swallows flying among stylised pale blue clouds and ochre trees. One of the major highlights of the elegant residence are the beautiful staircase of the Four Seasons and the Balcony of the Roses with glasses by Paschetto in yellow, red and orange colours creating a warm lively atmosphere.
In this delightful surroundings, the thirty-eight masks and sculptures by Nicola Toce stand out in their originality and archaic features. They are traditional and innovative at the same time, created by the artist for the parades that celebrate the end of Carnival in some villages of Basilicata such as Teana, Lavello, San Mauro Forte, Cirigliano, Stigliano and Viggianello.
The masks are made of Papier-mâché and clay, using ancient techniques and are painted in green, red and terra colours. Legends and myths of a pre-Christian past are narrated in their features and are linked to the cycle of the Seasons, transhumance, fertility rituals, the awakening of nature in spring and the taming of animals. They represent anthropomorphic fantastic animals and magic creatures connected with archaic traditions that are still present in modern celebrations. Their meaningfulness is exactly in the renovated spirit of the propitiatory traditions of the Carnival and spring that the people of Basilicata still celebrate today. They reiterate the ancient rituals to exorcise bad luck and evil spirits. Toce’s masks embody this interweaving of ancient and new; they are reminiscent of archaic myths and recall horror movies. The names given to the masks evoke primordial idols and legendary characters of folktales. The figures often have beards and horns, hair like snakes, disturbing grins and protruding fangs. As the title of the exhibition remarks, the myths are revisited in a contemporary perspective that cannot deny the past, has its root in it and flourishes from it.
Carnival is the centre of Toce’s inspiration with its excesses that culminate in Mardi Gras (shrove Tuesday) and at the same time die with it. Life and death coexist between sacred and profane in the funeral procession of Carnival and in the mourning of his wife Quaremma dressed in black, whose name recalls the approaching Quaresima (Lent). This is also a parody of Jesus’ death and means to castigate extremes.
The craziness of Carnival involves wedding rituals between two men or a man dressed as a woman and a woman dressed as a man, and the burning of puppets and old things to give space to the new ones. It is a time of letting go and, once a year, you are allowed to lose control, mock everything and every one, included yourself, entertain the audience and enjoy yourself.
The exhibition of Toce’s masks reveals the continuity of traditions between ancient and new in the context of the Carnival celebrated in Basilicata where fertility and agricultural rituals mingle, highlighting the impact of mankind on nature. Toce’s artwork shows unusual unique sides that reinterpret the myths in an unsettling and meaningful view.
Carla Scarano © 2019.
Edvard Munch ‘Love and Angst’. Review by Barbara Lewis.
Edvard Munch
Love and Angst
The British Museum, London
Until July 21
We’ve all seen it a hundred times, identified with it and even messaged using an emoticon version of Edvard Munch’s skull-like face, clutched by hands raised in horror in a distorted, nightmarish world.
But it takes a trip to the British Museum’s expertly-curated Love and Angst to appreciate the man and the artistry that built to this moment of intense anguish, known as the Shriek in Norwegian, and for Munch not just a personal, but a universal pain – hence his original title The Scream of Nature.
Neither was it just a moment. Rather it was a part of a series of images, named by Munch The Frieze of Life, a reference to his experience of the emotions of losing his mother and a sister, then a string of affairs as he was attracted to women but unable to commit to any one of them.
The exhibition sets the scene for his restless anxiety with the observation that his life-time (1863-1944) coincided with the advent of railways that allowed him to speed between Paris, Berlin and Kristiania, as Oslo was then named, mingling as he went with fellow fine artists, novelists and playwrights, often leading to at least as much drama offstage as onstage.
His native Kristiania, ruled by strict Lutherans who were scandalised by the works of Ibsen and Munch, was stifling and restrictive.
At the start of the exhibition, Munch depicts himself as an austere Kristianian in Self-Portrait with Skeleton Arm. His head emerges from a black background, like a Lutheran preacher, and at the bottom of the frame is a skeleton’s arm as a reminder of death, which stalked Munch’s anxious world.
The portrait is a lithograph print, setting the tone for an exhibition, which is the first in London to focus on Munch’s prints taken from blocks of stone, copperplate and wood. Its version of The Scream is a stark, black and white lithograph. (Munch, whose habit was to repeatedly revisit subjects, created two paintings and two pastel versions as well as numerous prints.)
The blocks, which Munch obsessively kept, are a fabulous insight into the careful determination and innovation as he strove to express his tortured world view. Their texture and physicality makes us look anew.
Two Human Beings: The Lonely Ones is one of the most appealing examples of his use of jigsaw-style woodcuts, made up of more than one block of wood. The effect is to emphasise the isolation of the two figures, underlining their inability to be together in what otherwise would be a moment of serenity at the side of the fjord.
In Separation, Munch again takes up the loneliness theme and makes use of long wavy hair, one of his leitmotifs. It recalls the waves of the fjords and evokes the feelings that in Munch’s universe ripple through nature. The two characters move apart, tenuously linked by the sweep of the woman’s hair, or, as Munch put it “the long hair is a kind of telegraph wire”.
Apart from being long and wavy, the hair in Munch’s universe is often red, suggesting passion and death.
The two are perfectly linked in Vampire, which Munch originally called Love and Pain. It shows a woman with flame-coloured hair kissing the neck of a man against a dark, mysterious forest-like background.
His famous Madonna has black hair, but with a halo of red, echoed in the red frame that caused outrage because of its daring depiction of swirling sperm and a foetus crouching in a corner.
And then there is his late sister Johanne Sophie, who died of TB, as did his mother. Munch is haunted by the memory, which he revisits in painting after painting.
The Sick Child depicts his sister as feverish beneath her disorderly red hair, while a grief-stricken woman bows her head, crowned with black hair in a tight bun. For Munch the picture was a turning point, but it also belongs to a more sentimental tradition compared with the direct, modern appeal of Munch’s most radical work, most notably The Scream.
While one sister died, another in 1894, was diagnosed with schizophrenia, adding to Munch’s anxiety about his own mental health.
As if in a premonition, he created The Scream a year before in 1893. In an instance of Munch, as he would have said, of painting not what he sees, but what he saw, The Scream portrays his experience of walking at sunset when the setting sun turned the clouds “a blood red” and he sensed an “infinite scream passing through nature”.
The flowing hair has gone, although the wavy lines of a malign energy pervade the image in the graphic black and white of the lithograph as if engulfing the skull-like, androgynous face at the composition’s centre. It recalls death once again, and its gender neutrality helps to explain the universal appeal as the anguished figure is neither male nor female.
It’s the climax of the British Museum exhibition but not quite the end. First, we have a gentler home-coming section as Munch forsakes his European train journeys and focuses on images inspired by the fjords of Christiania and the small town of Asgardstrand, where he bought a fisherman’s cabin.
Munch may never have found equanimity, but in Asgardstrand, he accepted a life without love and embraced his angst, without which there would have been no art. In his words: “For as long as I can remember, I have suffered from a deep feeling of anxiety, which I have tried to express in my art. Without this anxiety and illness, I would have been like a ship without a rudder.”
Asgardstrand was the setting for Girls on Bridge, which by comparison with The Scream possesses an almost chocolate-box calm.
The girls mark a transition from extreme emotion as we exit the world of Munch for the inevitable shop, selling screams on pencils, napkins, sketch pads, T-shirts and ear-rings for those who want to turn up to the office with an attitude or for protests on Palace Green.
Barbara Lewis © 2019.
Jeff Koons, Ashmolean Museum. Review by Carla Scarano.
Jeff Koons
Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology,
Oxford
7 February – 9 June 2019
The vitality of breath and its life power expressed in Jeff Koons’ sculptures and paintings mesmerise the viewer at the Ashmolean exhibition. His work ranges from the Equilibrium series to Banality, Antiquity and the Gazing Ball sculptures as well as reproductions of balloon objects in stainless steel. The display features seventeen works, of which fourteen are exhibited in the UK for the first time in a project co-curated by the artist himself. It also responds to the collection of the Ashmolean Museum that comprehends art from prehistory to modern times. His artworks refigure the past connecting them to a contemporary perspective inevitably linked to the consumerist world of mass production and the glossy ‘reality’ of advertising and marketing.
Koons, born in Pennsylvania in 1955 and working in New York, is a renowned artist who gained success in the 1980s. His work sells for millions of dollars and is exhibited in major galleries such as The New Museum of Contemporary Art in New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Serpentine Gallery in London and the Whitney Museum of American Art. In interviews and videos, he claims that there are no hidden meanings or ironic intentions in his work and there is no judgemental intent. Some critics disregard his production as kitsch, others view it as important in a historical connection with past artworks. Nevertheless, it is impossible not to interpret his work as a prudent comment of American society at least, with its sometimes banal iconography and simplified representations that feed mass production and sell widely and easily.
The reproduction of ready-made toys, such as ‘Rabbit’ (1986), or ‘Balloon Venus’ (2008-12) inspired by the Venus of Villenford, are the most significant examples of the exhibition both in their originality and appeal. They look like inflated balloons on a large scale but are made of shining steel. They are seamless, deceiving the viewer who wishes to touch it to be sure it is not made of plastic and full of air. Wonder of wonders, the viewer’s image is reflected in it in multiple distorted ways in a fascinating play of mirrors. Pleasure and guilt mix in a slightly anxious awareness that there is no reliable referent and yet we participate and like it.
The Antiquity and the Gazing Ball series are the major links to the Ashmolean context. Past and present combine in the reproduction of Greek and Roman sculptures in collage paintings where a sketchy vulva is superimposed referring to Courbet’s painting ‘L’origine du monde’ (1866); or in ‘Antiquity 2’ (dots, 2009-12) where the actress Gatchen Mol in girdle and lace bra is riding an inflatable dolphin. She is compared to Aphrodite or Galatea and the Monkey, an inflatable as well just in front of her, represents Eros. This is not only an interpretation of ancient iconography from a ‘free love’ American point of view, it is also an explicit comment on what art means today compared to past mythology.
Gigantic sculptures of ballerinas in softly coloured stainless steel are reminiscent of Degas’ famous dancers but actually imitate, in a huge scale, tiny porcelain ceramics by Oksana Zhnykrup. Once again, any chance of originality is deviated from the content to the form, in a presentation or production of the artwork that is captivating and luxurious at the same time, though representing mass production objects. It is a pleasantly acknowledged simulation that blurs the difference between high and low quality products.
The last room displays the Gazing Ball series where a blue shining ball is positioned near or in the centre of an iconic artwork of western tradition, such as Gericault’s ‘Raft of the Medusa’, or Titian’s ‘Diana and Actaeon’. They are copies of old masters’ paintings that his assistants painted using colour-by-numbers to maintain an even effect. Famous ancient sculptures in plaster cast are present as well, such as the ‘Belvedere Torso’. The gaze balls are hand made objects exclusively produced for Koons. They represent a link between the viewer, who reflects their deformed image in it, and the artwork, in smaller scale this time compared to the original. It is a way to bring the audience near to art allowing a more relatable approach.
In the shop there are two of his balloon stainless steel sculptures, a yellow swan and a blue dog on sale for about twelve thousand pounds each; they affirm and encapsulate the appeal and purpose of this enthralling exhibition.
Carla Scarano © 2019.
The Swan Princess: Russian Art, Munch Museum, Oslo. Review by Barbara Lewis
Munchmuseet/Munch Museum,
The Swan Princess: Russian Art – 1880-1910
Oslo (Until April 21)
Edvard Munch from next year will be displayed in a new aluminium tower that has divided local opinion as it changes the skyline near Oslo’s iceberg-like opera house on the waterfront.
Until then, the Munchmuseet, opened in 1963, the year that marked the 100th anniversary of Munch’s birth, is showing a tiny fraction of its 28,000-strong collection.
By way of compensation, visitors get a chance to see Norway’s most famous artist in the context of some of his Norwegian and his Russian contemporaries. The Russian art is loaned by the Tretayakov Gallery as part of a cultural exchange, including a major Munch exhibition in Moscow and a series of three Russian exhibitions in Oslo, the first of which is in the old Munch museum, while the second and third will be in the museum’s new home.
Munch’s expressionism, which draws on the subconscious, stands apart for its boldness, individuality and modernity. Ahead of his time, he was an exponent of Nordic noir. But, although a leap in his day, his work is a logical extension of the exploration of landscape, folk art and fairy tales Norwegian and Russian artists had embarked upon as part of an awakening of national consciousness.
The links are underlined as 13 lesser-known Munch works are hung among works of painters collected by Pavel Tretyakov, a rich industrialist and art collector, who founded the Tretyakov gallery in Moscow. His portrait, at the start of the exhibition, by Ilya Efimovich Repin shows him standing thoughtfully beside his art.
Repin is among the artists who came together at the Abramtsevo estate in northern Russian, which influenced the creative arts in general, including providing the inspiration for the house in Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard.
The Abramtsevo artists sought to recapture the spirit of medieval Russian art in a manner parallel not just with a Norwegian interest in traditional inspiration, but with the Arts and Crafts movement in Great Britain and overlapping with the wider European Art Nouveau.
The exhibition takes its name from the work of one of the Abramtsevo colony Mikhail Vrubel, whose The Swan Princess was based on the opera The Tale of Tsar Sultan by Rimsky-Korsakov. It captures the moment when the swan, a role performed by the artist’s wife, turns back into a human princess, staring out with haunting blue eyes from a satiny froth of glamourous, opulent feathers.
She sets the tone of an exhibition that combines the other-wordly and magical with the believable and reveres both the natural and the supernatural.
In the intense political ferment of late 19th-century Russia, artists’ quests for Russianness drew them to depictions of the landscape that enhanced its natural mysticism, and to seek out authenticity in peasant workers and Orthodox monks united in a silent, rugged pursuit.
Ivan Kramskov’s Beekeeper is old and weary and bare-foot as he sits contemplating in front of his beehives on a summer’s day. The pastoral idyll is shot through with endurance.
Mikhail Nesterov’s Silence shows two working monks in two separate canoes that serve to underline their isolation, paddling past their monastery high above them on a forested spur.
The kind of peace we may dream of in today’s noisy times is seductive in Isaak Levitan’s Silent Monastery. A rickety wooden bridge over the Volga draws the eye into the forests on the opposite bank, where the gleaming golden onion towers of the monastery, reflected in the river, lure us to another world. Chekhov was among the painting’s admirers.
Victor Vasnetsov goes a step further to let his imagination fly. His Knight at the Crossroads, an interpretation of a Russian legend, depicts the hero in an impossible dilemma as he reads on stone: “If you go straight ahead, there will be no life, there is no way forward for he who travels past, walks past or flies past.”
Vasnetsov deploys the clichés of good and evil: the horse is white, black ravens loom and skulls, animal and human are scattered, implying the fate of an earlier knight on horseback.
The bleakness continues as some of Russia’s fin de siècle artists explored the landscapes of the north. Alexander Borisov pioneered the subject of the Arctic in Russian visual art. His Eternal Ice stretches to the horizon. As we contemplate global warming, the sense of danger has only increased.
Borisov’s more or less literal journey and Vasnetsov’s unsubtle dichotomy of good and evil become disturbingly psychological in Munch.
His Two Children on their Way to the Fairytale Forest surpasses the cosy menace of traditional fairy tales and borders on the modern terror that can befall innocence, represented by tiny figures, approaching the vast, unknown evil of an amorphous forest that seems to be making its way towards them rather than the other way around.
Other Munch is more playful. The Big Codfish again draws the contrast between a giant of another world, in all its over-sized weirdness, and a tiny female human. The relationship between the two figures in his Black and Yellow Man in Snow is equally puzzling, if relationship is not too strong a word for the link between the two characters. One could be the alter ego of the other, but in every other respect, they just happen to be alive at the same time in the same cold, snowy place.
Munch in some ways was at a great distance from his contemporaries in both Russia and Norway, but fellow Norwegian Gerhard Munthe also delved into the subconscious, albeit in a way more closely linked to traditional folk art, while bordering on the stylisation of Art Nouveau in, for instance, Afraid of the Dark.
As the artists of the turn of the century faced the tension of preserving the old and embracing the new, Yelena Polenova, another of the Abramtsevo group, was the first Russian artist to collect and illustrate Russian folktales. Her goal was to preserve an aspect of Russia’s cultural life seen as under threat from French influence and modernism. She succeeded in that her illustrations, such as the charming War of the Mushrooms, inspired other illustrators, including Norway’s Erik Werenskiold and Theodor Kittelson.
Wonderful as are the worlds depicted by all of these artists, ultimately the exhibition serves to confirm the striking originality of Munch. Regardless of whether the local residents approve of the somewhat brutalist tower that will be his new home, the contents will be well worth a visit.
Barbara Lewis © 2019.
Chihuly: Reflections on nature. Review by Carla Scarano.
September 9, 2019 by Carla Scarano • added recently on London Grip, art, exhibitions, installations, sculpture • Tags: art, Carla Scarano, exhibitions, installations, sculpture •
More →