{"id":1436,"date":"2019-02-02T19:38:07","date_gmt":"2019-02-02T19:38:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/instantloveland.com\/wp\/?p=1436"},"modified":"2019-04-06T19:05:06","modified_gmt":"2019-04-06T19:05:06","slug":"matt-dennis-on-patrick-heron-signs-for-seeing-signs-for-things-seen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/instantloveland.com\/wp\/2019\/02\/02\/matt-dennis-on-patrick-heron-signs-for-seeing-signs-for-things-seen\/","title":{"rendered":"Matt Dennis on Patrick Heron: Signs for Seeing, Signs for Things Seen"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Patrick Heron, \u2018Sydney Garden Painting: December: 1989: II\u2019, oil on canvas, 152.4 x 213.4cm<\/p><\/div>\n

Someone really ought to have had a word with the curators of Tate\u2019s Patrick Heron show, which finished the second part of its run at Turner Contemporary in the first week of January. I\u2019m referring, of course, to the decision that prompted so many strong reactions, both positive and negative: hanging the show by thematic headings (\u2018Edges\u2019, \u2018Unity of the Work\u2019, \u2018Asymmetry and Recomplication\u2019, \u2018Explicit Scale\u2019<\/em>) rather than going down the obvious route of starting- more or less- at the beginning of Heron\u2019s oeuvre\u00a0<\/em>and finishing at the end. I visited the show twice: once in St Ives, and once in Margate; and although the transfer from the former to the latter had resolved some of the problems that had beset it in its first staging- the level of illumination in the galleries at Turner Contemporary was far brighter than the inexplicably dim greyness of the lighting in the newly-opened extension in St Ives; and unlike St Ives, they hadn\u2019t sacrificed an entire large room to a dedicated Patrick Heron gift shop annexe, preferring to use the space not given over to the paintings to host a number of his gouaches- but there on the walls at Margate were the same four pieces of didactic signage that had hung so unhelpfully at St Ives, struggling to be heeded amid the clamour of Heron\u2019s colour in a way that seemed unintentionally comic, like a beleaguered parent gamely trying to explain the rules of \u2018pass-the-parcel\u2019<\/em> to a roomful of hyperactive eight-year-olds. The paintings showed no inclination to fall in line with these written instructions; and there was no good reason for the viewer to do so either. Dividing up Heron\u2019s art by categories, and hanging it accordingly, with no regard for chronology, does him a tremendous disservice: it creates an impression of him as a kind of variety artist<\/em>, able and willing to switch between styles and manners at will, rather than the kind of artist he really was, for whom \u2018each painting spawn[ed] its successor\u20191<\/a><\/sup>Heron, P., \u2018My Painting Now: 30th August 1987\u2019, p19, in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019, Ed. Knight, V. Lund Humphries 1988<\/span><\/em>; in other words, an artist whose progression was always linear, the lessons learned in the resolution of each work feeding into the conception of the next in what he himself called \u2018perpetual mutation\u2026sometimes proceeding at a snail\u2019s pace, at other times with terrifying abruptness\u20192<\/a><\/sup>Ibid.<\/span>.<\/em> The best way- arguably, the only way- to get the measure of Heron\u2019s career, with its sudden doublings-back to revisit abandoned modes of working, and its long periods of close attention to a particular set of formal concerns that suddenly give way to seemingly radically different preoccupations, is to be allowed to see it, to feel<\/em> it unfold chronologically. Were the curators simply shy of doing the obvious thing? The obviousness of a choice doesn\u2019t in itself render it the wrong one. Rachel Cooke, writing in the Guardian, was surely right to conclude that the curation was \u2018a jumble; its focus obscure, its motivation patronising.\u20193<\/a><\/sup>Cooke, R., \u2018Brilliant, Colourful, and Completely Out of Order\u2019, 20th May 2018, http:\/\/www.theguardian.com<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Still\u2026two can play at that game. What follows has no pretensions towards being any kind of comprehensive, definitive account of Heron\u2019s painting: but is an attempt to record, under four headings (an only slightly ironic dig at the show\u2019s curation) a series of impressions gathered by doing what the hang was so keen to discourage- that is, following as much as possible his timeline; and in the process, coming to understand a little better how complicated, contrarian, and occasionally radical an artist he turns out to have been.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Something had to give\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u2018Christmas Eve\u2019 of 1951, the largest of the handful of representational works on show, is crammed from edge to edge with bunched, looping, zigzagging, stuttering, cursive charcoal line, infilled with crazed patterning of coloured shards and stripes; decorum is maintained, but only just: the colour demands to breathe, to expand, whilst the line hems it in everywhere, enforcing an inch-wide no-go zone of bare grey priming along the entire length of its route. It is the masterpiece of Heron\u2019s mature figurative style; but as is so often the way with masterpieces, it seems to usher in a terminal phase for the very method of working that made its creation possible in the first place. \u00a0A kind of critical mass of surface activity has been reached. It is very hard to look at this painting and not think: something had to give<\/em>.<\/p>\n

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Patrick Heron, \u2018Christmas Eve: 1951\u2019, oil on canvas, 182.9 x 304.8cm<\/p><\/div>\n

What did<\/em> give, of course, was figuration. Unsurprising, really: Heron\u2019s figurative works entirely lack the feeling that is always inescapably there with Picasso- that the distortions, stylisations and simplifications are intended to bring us back<\/em> to the subject with renewed force. Figuration, for Heron, was the point of departure, not return: he was, in a sense, always an abstractionist-in-waiting. \u2018St Ives Window with Sand Bar: 1952\u2019<\/em> seems, in its very structure, to capture him in the act of not merely travelling away from figuration, but divesting himself of it: the bottom half of the painting sports three perfunctory silhouetted fish on plates- a tired visual trope, even for then; a half-hearted quoting from his beloved Braque that functions as nothing more than a kind of stamp, certifying the painting as \u2018still-life of European modernist lineage\u2019<\/em>. But then the eye rises into the top half, and finds a complex, shifting play of line and plane that pits a perspectival cage drawn with the nozzle of the tube against declarative swatches of brushed colour; in effect, an inventory of all that Heron would go on to concern himself with once he renounced depiction in favour of an exploration of the \u2018superbly exciting facts\u2019<\/em> 4<\/a><\/sup>Heron, P., \u2018A Note on my Painting: 1962\u2019, Catalogue of Galerie Charles Lienhard exhibition, Zurich, 1963, reprinted in Art international, 25th Feb 1963; reprinted in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019, Ed. Knight, V. Lund Humphries 1988, p34<\/span>of spatial colour.<\/p>\n

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Patrick Heron, \u2018St Ives Window with Sand Bar: 1952\u2019, oil on canvas, 91.4 x 51.8cm<\/p><\/div>\n

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Not the heat of the \u2018I\u2019, but the cool of the eye<\/strong><\/p>\n

Heron\u2019s move into abstraction coincided with the \u2018moment\u2019<\/em> of its upsurge into the wider postwar culture; and it is tempting, therefore, to try to situate him in close relation to the American abstract painters who had so fired his imagination in the Tate\u2019s near-mythical \u2018Modern Art in the United States\u2019 <\/em>of 1956. And yet, judging by the paintings at Turner Contemporary, it is clear that it wasn\u2019t just the Atlantic Ocean that divided Heron from his Abstract Expressionist peers. He and they had renunciation<\/em> in common, certainly: Heron recognised in their painting a shared striving towards \u2018total freedom not only from figuration, but even from that abstraction which somehow still evoked familiar visual facts, whether of still life or landscape\u2019<\/em>;5<\/a><\/sup> Heron, P., from \u2018Five Americans at the Institute of Contemporary Arts\u2019, \u2018Arts\u2019 (New York), May 1958, reprinted in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019, Ed. Knight, V. Lund Humphries 1988, p32<\/span> echoing Newman\u2019s famous observation that abstraction had liberated art from \u2018the impediments of memory, association, nostalgia, legend, myth, or what have you, that have been the devices of Western European painting\u2019.6<\/a><\/sup>Newman, B., \u2018The Sublime is Now\u2019, Tiger\u2019s Eye Vol 1, No. 6, December 1948, pp51-53, reprinted in \u2018Art in Theory 1900-2000\u2019, Ed. Harrison, C., and Wood, P., Blackwell Publishing, pp580-582<\/span> <\/em>They were all moving away<\/em> from the same things; but the destinations they were headed towards were very far apart: Heron\u2019s \u2018Scarlet Verticals: 1957\u2019 <\/em>is as spare and entirely abstract as anything of Rothko\u2019s, but feels completely free of the latter\u2019s glowering intensity. Its stripes and swatches of thinned colour are relational in a breezy, insouciant way the American painters never managed: for the simple reason that breezy insouciance was never an option for them, preoccupied as they were with making every canvas an avatar for the uniquely suffering self, refining their forms down to heraldic, autographic emblems- Newman\u2019s \u2018zips\u2019<\/em>, Gottlieb\u2019s discs and erupting black stars. Heron may well have described \u2018the artist who never feels, as he starts a new picture, that this time he is tempting madness to envelop him\u2019<\/em> as \u2018no artist at all\u2019<\/em>;7<\/a><\/sup>Heron, P., \u2018The Changing Forms of Art\u2019, 1955, pp3-20, reprinted in \u2018Recent Paintings\u2019, Gouk, A., in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019 Barbican Art Gallery, 1985, p19<\/span> but he understood this struggle as essentially formal, rather than psychological: the drama of painting, rather than the painting of drama. Heron\u2019s abstraction, as much as it looked backwards to a set of continental influences, was always outward-looking: the brushed lozenges, circles, fields of colour of his works of the late 1950s and early 1960s do not reference the physical world directly, but establish sets of relations that feel analogous to those discovered by looking at it. Pollock\u2019s \u2018I am nature\u2019<\/em>, in its implied solipsism and self-absorption, was anathema to him: nature was nature, and his task was to find, through paint, a visual experience which, whilst self-referential, might match it in richness. \u2018The nature of his language [was] determined not in the heat of the \u201cI\u201d but in the cool of the eye.\u20198<\/a><\/sup>Power, K., \u2018Looking at Lasker: The Surprise of Syntax\u2019, in \u2018Jonathan Lasker: Paintings, Drawings, Studies, 1977-2003, Museo Nacional, Centre de Arte Reina Sofia, Madrid, 2003, p35<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

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Patrick Heron, \u2018Scarlet Verticals: March 1957\u2019, oil on canvas, 102 x 127cm<\/p><\/div>\n

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\u2018Hand-stroked, hand-scribbled, hand-scrubbed\u2019<\/strong><\/p>\n

What is it, then, that can help make the claim that Heron\u2019s art could be radical? Definitely not his choice of antecedents: the four saints at the corners of his bed were Bonnard, Matisse, Picasso and Braque, \u2018the French masters [he] so admired\u2019 <\/em>and there is a great deal in Heron\u2019s painting- the drawing with the brush, the flickering fields of paint-strokes- \u00a0that can be seen as the adoption of their figurative means as abstract ends. The answer, paradoxically, lies in the thinking behind the apparent narrowness of Heron\u2019s approach to the paintings\u2019 making.<\/em> Nowhere in any of the paintings hanging in Margate is there any evidence of spraying, spattering, squirting, soaking, or staining: any way at all, in fact, of getting the paint onto the painting, and manipulating it once there, that didn\u2019t involve direct physical contact between canvas and hand-held implement- specifically, the brush (bristles and <\/em>handle) or the nozzle of the paint tube. \u2018Hand-stroked, hand-scribbled, hand-scrubbed\u2019<\/em>:9<\/a><\/sup>Heron, P., from \u2018Two Cultures\u2019, Studio International, December 1970, reprinted in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019, Ed. Knight, V. Lund Humphries 1988, p35<\/span> this was Heron\u2019s mantra, the outward expression of his deeply-held conviction that \u2018surfaces worked in this way can- in fact they must- register a different nuance of spatial evocation and movement in every single square millimetre\u2019<\/em>.10<\/a><\/sup>Ibid.<\/span> For Heron, this hand-worked quality was the single indispensable constant, the one guarantee of authenticity, that his painting had to have: and if it were present, then he felt empowered, as it were, to play fast and loose with any and all of the other givens of modernist abstraction: to test them, to push against their limits. And push he certainly did\u2026<\/p>\n

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Patrick Heron, \u2018Complex Greens, Reds and Orange: July 1976- January 1977\u2019, oil on canvas, 101.6 x 152.4cm<\/p><\/div>\n

Time and familiarity have blunted the impact of the \u2018wobbly hard-edged\u2019<\/em> paintings somewhat; but to encounter \u2018Big Complex Diagonal with Emerald and Reds: March 1972- September 1974\u2019<\/em> again was to be reminded of its sheer weirdness, <\/em>and the weirdness of the other works from the decade, give or take, that Heron devoted to this kind of painting. The facts of their facture read like the painter\u2019s life re-imagined as absurdist drama, something out of Samuel Beckett: 13-hour stints at the canvas without a break, laying in (with what Alan Gouk has described, using brilliant understatement, as \u2018somewhat uncharacteristic meticulousness\u201911<\/a><\/sup>\u2018Recent Paintings\u2019, Gouk, A., in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019 Barbican Art Gallery, 1985, p21<\/span> <\/em>) vast square-footages of pure, unmixed colour with small Chinese brushes, right up to the lines of his preparatory drawing, which had been laid down in a matter of seconds, and which, once executed, remained fixed and unalterable. Writing in 1958, Heron had decried \u2018mere quickness in actual execution\u201912<\/a><\/sup>Heron, P., from \u2018Five Americans at the Institute of Contemporary Arts\u2019, \u2018Arts\u2019 (New York), May 1958, reprinted in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019, Ed. Knight, V. Lund Humphries 1988, p33<\/span><\/em> as \u2018a false criterion of excellence\u2019 13<\/a><\/sup>Ibid<\/span><\/em>and demanded \u2018a new and fine deliberateness\u2019<\/em>;14<\/a><\/sup>Ibid<\/span> but what his \u2018deliberateness\u2019<\/em> delivers in paintings such as \u2018Complex Greens, Reds and Orange: July 1976- January 1977\u2019<\/em> feels more like a deconstruction of Modernist abstraction that anticipates by the best part of a decade the procedures of a Postmodern artist such as Jonathan Lasker, who famously separates out the key trope of a Modernist painting- the spontaneous, freely generated autographic mark- from the other elements of its facture by first laying down his entire composition as a rapidly-executed, small-scale sketch in Biro and felt marker, which then serves as a maquette to be painstakingly copied, freehand, at vastly enlarged scale, to produce the finished work; thereby redefining the forms of Modernism\u2019s heroic individualism as a set of frozen signifiers. In Heron\u2019s case, the free automatism that should have attended the entire painting process of his \u2018Complex Greens\u2026\u2019 from start to finish -had he been playing according to Modernism\u2019s rules- has instead been expended in the first few seconds, as the canvas was divided by the rapid strokes of his nylon-tipped pen; that done, the colour has then been exhaustively applied over the entire canvas surface, turning the lines of drawing into frontiers between hues, and the painting as a whole into an immaculate body, sealed off from the viewer by its perfect, unbroken skin. Its very perfection of finish has something defensive about it: as if to push a painting so remorselessly in the direction of an exploration of colour and contour, to the exclusion of all else, was so heretical an act that Heron had to hide behind a barrier of flawless technique. He was not<\/em> a proto-Postmodernist: to repeat, his concern was always with the celebration of visual sensation and the means of its transmission, rather than a critique of the viability of those means, or of visuality as the assumed goal of painting; but in his preparedness to isolate and massively heighten one aspect of Modernist practice, whilst reducing others to invisibilty, he presaged, by default, the interrogation of painting that was to become the driving force in the work of the generation that followed him.<\/p>\n

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Patrick Heron, Detail of \u2018Big Complex Diagonal with Emerald and Reds: March 1972-September 1974\u2019, oil on canvas, 208.3 x 335.3cm<\/p><\/div>\n

The hand whose traces Heron had worked so carefully to efface in the \u2018wobbly hard-edged\u2019<\/em> works (traces only detectable at close quarters in Margate, when the top-lighting in the galleries gleamed on the dried residue of oil medium in the looping, swirling brush-tracks) declares itself again in the paintings of the late 1970s and the 1980s, with an accompanying sense of re-engagement with all the varied possibilities for painting\u2019s facture that Heron had set aside. The forms, and their disposition, in the new paintings correspond closely to those of the hard-edged works: the wonky ovals with their inset harbours and inlets, the crankshaft shapes, the attenuated, wriggling fronds, coming together in vertical stacks that abut the canvas sides, or divide the picture surface into interlocking zones of crazy paving; but Heron is once more running the whole gamut of \u2018hand-done paintwork\u2019<\/em> in a manner that feels like a re-capitulation of his entire career as a painter: As James Faure Walker observed of these works, \u2018Sometimes he seems to try and recall every phase of his development in the one painting.\u2019<\/em>\u00a015<\/a><\/sup>\u2018Patrick Heron: the 1970s\u2019, Faure Walker, J., in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019 Barbican Art Gallery, 1985, p17<\/span> The results, such as \u2018Pale Garden Painting: July-August 1984\u2019<\/em> show Heron at his most beguiling: the colours are muted, but Heron coaxes an extraordinary low-level luminosity out of the entire picture space, laying the paint down in rough zones of thinned scribble over white priming; and the scrawled calligraphy of light pink over the pale rectangle in the bottom left corner seems to spread a kind of confectionery sweetness into every part of the painting. These are easy paintings to enjoy, and they drew audible sighs of relief from commentators who had looked to Heron as a standard-bearer for a certain idea of \u2018good painting\u2019<\/em>: he no longer appears to be implementing an exclusionary agenda in pursuit of pure, refined colour sensations, but relies once more on rapid, free improvisation from first marks to last; plus, in works like \u2018Sydney Garden Painting: December: II: 1989\u2019<\/em> he further demonstrates his new openness to concerns other than pure opticality by taking the (for him) unheard-of step of painting with thick impasto.<\/p>\n

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Patrick Heron, \u2018Pale Garden Painting: July-August 1984\u2019, oil on canvas, 205 x 330cm<\/p><\/div>\n

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Patrick Heron, Detail of \u2018Sydney Garden Painting: December: 1989: II\u2019, oil on canvas, 152.4 x 213.4cm<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Signs for seeing, signs for things seen<\/strong><\/p>\n

These works mark a return for Heron; but not a final destination. The last phase of his painting, when it arrived, announced itself in much the same way as the \u2018wobbly hard-edged\u2019 <\/em>works did as they superseded what went before them, through a stripping-down of formal means, and a sense of travel in one very particular direction; with the key difference that whereas before, he had suppressed the visible work of the hand in favour of a concentration on colour, now, with \u201813th<\/sup> March 1992\u2019 <\/em>and \u201810th<\/sup>-11th<\/sup> July 1992\u2019<\/em> it was clearly colour that was being suppressed, and emphasis falling instead on the slap-dash handwriting of drawing with the brush and tube-nozzle to an extent that seemed to re-cast the canvasses as something more like vast white notebook pages, and the marks on them as the rapid notations of a sketch. This, however, was not the operation of a kind of \u2018Newtonian physics\u2019<\/em> in Heron\u2019s practice, by which an action (his concentration on colour in the hard-edge paintings) had elicited its equal and opposite reaction; it was much more. In fact, to understand the motivation behind this last shift in his painting, it is necessary to understand the extent to which Heron had been influenced by the last decade of Picasso.<\/p>\n

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Patrick Heron, \u201813th March 1992\u2019, oil on canvas, 213.4 x 121.9cm<\/p><\/div>\n

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Patrick Heron, \u201810th-11th July 1992\u2019, oil on canvas, 198 x 274.3cm<\/p><\/div>\n

Thrilled- and deeply moved- by the showings of Picasso\u2019s late paintings in London and Paris during 1988, Heron had published a contemporaneous essay in Modern Painters <\/em>that enumerated his enthusiastic responses to the work in blunt and surprising terms:<\/p>\n

\u2018Labia, anuses, penises, nipples, armpit hair (like toothbrush heads), testicles, fingernails, eyeballs, eyelids, eyelashes (little mascara brushes), nostrils, not to mention interlapping lips- brilliantly economical signs for all these familiar parts of the human bodily furniture positively litter the surface of the[se] very remarkable paintings\u2026\u201916<\/a><\/sup>Heron, P., \u2018Late Picasso\u2019, Modern Painters, Vol 1, No.2, Autumn 1988, p6<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

What was Heron- by this point, an abstract artist for nearly four decades- doing, fixating on figurative content with such obvious relish? He had gone on the record in the early years of his move into abstraction, asserting that \u2018there simply is not available at the present moment, it seems to me, a valid figure, or figuration, which is not retrogressive in some way or other\u2019<\/em>;17<\/a><\/sup> Heron, P., from \u2018Five Americans at the Institute of Contemporary Arts\u2019, \u2018Arts\u2019 (New York), May 1958, reprinted in \u2018Patrick Heron\u2019, Ed. Knight, V. Lund Humphries 1988, p33<\/span> what had changed for him? The clue lies in Heron\u2019s phrase, \u2018brilliantly economical signs\u2019<\/em>: he had grasped that Picasso had found his way to a system of notations<\/em> for the things of the physical world, so spontaneously generated by the brush that they acquired thinghood<\/em>; and that their inclusion in his paintings was an act of presentation <\/em>rather than representation. <\/em>In this way, Picasso refrained from committing what Heron had once termed \u2018the heresy of realism\u2019<\/em>: his painted signs were not images, but a new species of \u2018superbly exciting facts\u2019<\/em>. As Heron went on to write: \u2018They are matters of fact (paint there on the canvas before your eyes) not of fantasy (ie., something invisible inside your head).\u201918<\/a><\/sup>Heron, P., \u2018Late Picasso\u2019, Modern Painters, Vol 1, No.2, Autumn 1988, p7<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Heron\u2019s late works are problematic: not in the way that the \u2018wobbly hard-edged\u2019<\/em> paintings had been problematic, by courting a kind of frozen perfection, but in their highly provisional, exploratory forays into the new territory that Picasso seemed to have opened up for him. He had, in Mel Gooding\u2019s words, \u2018achieved a contract with the natural world and its objects that allowed him the utmost freedom to create images that derived from the apprehension of resemblances rather than the imitation of appearances\u2019.19<\/a><\/sup>\u2018Patrick Heron\u2019, Gooding, M., Phaidon Press Ltd, 1994, p239<\/span><\/em> Although Heron still made a good many paintings that included high-keyed, generously-applied colour, the paint is delivered via explosive flurries of notational drawing<\/em>– lines, scribbles, scrawls, dots, dashes; and there are as many that offer no easy treats for the eye, in the sheer scarcity of their paint, and in which the marks- such as the scratchy dark blue \u2018grass\u2019 at the base of \u201827th<\/sup> August 1991\u2019- <\/em>can feel like the product of joyless, half-mechanical activity, but also, as in the case of the utterly unambiguously referential leafy branch in \u201810th<\/sup>-11th<\/sup> July 1992\u2019, <\/em>like undigested chunks of figuration.<\/em> What he was seeking, perhaps, at the very end of his working life, feeling his way forwards with very little thought for revisiting the crowd-pleasing opulence of colour and handling of the previous decade, was the form of notation that would allow him to speak an equivalently blunt language of \u2018facts\u2019<\/em> to the one evolved by Picasso. This search is most succinctly shown in the show\u2019s small, simple \u2018Vermilion and Ultramarine: June 11th<\/sup> 1985\u2019<\/em>, considered alongside one of the countless canvases of an equivalent small size that Picasso painted during his last decade of astonishing production: \u2018Nu allonge et tete d\u2019homme de profil\u2019<\/em> of 1965 is a set of signs for things seen<\/em>; Heron\u2019s little canvas is a set of signs for seeing<\/em>. And the distance between them seems barely any distance at all.<\/p>\n

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Pablo Picasso, \u2018Nu allonge et tete d\u2019homme de profil\u2019 (1965), oil on canvas, 33 x 41cm<\/p><\/div>\n

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Patrick Heron, \u2018Vermilion and Ultramarine: June 11th 1985\u2019, oil on canvas, 40.5 x 51cm<\/p><\/div>\n