Because of the folds, obviously.
Elegant draperies folding majestically, reminding one of the very venerable folds
of art history. (And there’s ironic
playfulness, of course, in these contemporary folds, but also genuinely solemn elegance.)
Because of the evocation of time: time – not entirely lost, but slowly unfolding in a sonnet,
while a woman smokes in front of a window, while smoke curls, while light changes ever so
slowly in a dusty room. Or lazy summer time, when the slow summer light in an apartment at the seaside might recall winter.
(but
then, ah the poignancy of contemporary art
– so ephemeral its contemporary means, so transient the modernity of its medium
: a dated Kodak slide projector, trembling black & white videos from the 70s,
collages of yellowing brittle paper scraps, and then that dusty fraying velvet – no match
for those 15th century panels where the deep glow of oil paint still
rivets the eye)
“an elegant celebration of the fragment”, read another exhibit-comment, a phrase which promptly dazzled
me.
Fragments!
Yes, the melancholy remembrance
embodied within fragments, such as paper scraps, ragged pictures: like this picture of a luminous corner of a room,
with a window suggestive of a sunny world outside (it could have been the window
in the Arnolfini's room , but it
isn’t) – or the picture of a terrace with a balustrade, looking out over a sea (it could
have been a Corot in Italy , or else a dusky Lorrain – but it isn’t)
Fragments, reflected in a broken
mirror, or deceivingly sturdy like those elegant colourful fragments made of papier-mâché.
Or frozen fragments of time, such as a book lying on a window sill, with a timeless seaview
outside.
But over to another fragment, in
another museum – the eye, enchanted by intense red, zooms in on the folds of a man’s
sleeve. The eye is seduced too by the gilded clasp
and by the illuminations of a book of prayers. But it remains insolently indifferent to the
face of this owner of sleeve and prayer book. A
wealthy donor, devoutly praying, buying salvation and posthumous 21st
Century admiration (albeit it here only for his sleeve and his book).
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