Watercolour at Tate Britain delights and disappoints

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Watercolour

Alison Smith (ed.)

The art of watercolour is probably the most practised form of artistic expression of the visual arts. I would imagine that nearly every child, certainly in the United Kingdom, was taught or allowed to use watercolour or poster paint (bodycolour) at school.  The exhibition at Tate Britain (16 February–21 August 2011) entitled simply ‘Watercolour’ should excite all those devotees of the medium, whether as practitioners, collectors or observers.  The exhibition is not a history of the medium, but does extend the usual parameters to consider works by contemporary artists and works by other artists who do not use the medium exclusively.  This in itself is probably a first. 

Traditionalists may grumble at this divergence from true watercolour: i.e. using the paper not only as a support but also as a visual device, the white of the paper reflecting through the washes with some areas not coloured at all, representing clouds and so on.

I can visualize many visitors hurrying to see Tracey Emin’s watercolours, prepared to condemn this artist, creator of the shocking unmade bed, entitled My Bed (1998).  I hope, however, that they will be pleasantly surprised; although the three works (no. 125) hardly do her justice.  She has a wonderful touch and feel for the medium, and I know other similar works with delicate underdrawing, which have the character and feel of an old master drawing.

The exhibition is divided into eight sections including ‘Intimate Knowledge’; ‘Watercolour and War’; and ‘Inner Vision’.  Interesting enough, but somewhat arbitrary, as there are endless possibilities for artists to be included in several of the categories or excluded altogether.  Turner is included in three sections but there is not a single Constable!  I could not find any convincing justification for the existence of these sections within the essays written by the curators – which can be taken as confidence or insecurity.  I am inclined towards the latter, as the essays are surprisingly nebulous.  It appears that having selected the titles they have had difficulty in justifying the selections, which are, in some cases, idiosyncratic.

I certainly do not believe that any exhibition should fit any clichéd idea or repeat previous selections.  It would, for instance, be impossible to repeat the magnificent Royal Academy exhibition of ‘British Watercolours 1750–1880’ (1993) curated by Andrew Wilton and Anne Lyles. An exhibition should, however, shed a new light and understanding on the subject. I also believe that there is a responsibility to fulfil certain expectations, particularly with such a popular subject, which, even though not invented in Britain, is certainly considered a national art form. 

There are wonderful examples of works by Edward Burra in ‘Travel and Topography’ and ‘Watercolour and War’, which also includes a moving work by Paul Nash, Wire of 1918–19 (no. 92) – a powerful representation of a war-torn landscape in Flanders, with a blasted tree, perhaps representing a limbless human figure.  Nash’s other contributions included in ‘Inner Vision’ (no. 117 and 118) represent his interest in Surrealism but scarcely demonstrate his true importance in the field of watercolour.  It is this repetition of serious omission and the choice of inferior examples that weakens this exhibition, which has relied too heavily on Tate’s holdings.

I was not convinced by some of the choice of works by traditional artists in the ‘Travel and topography’ section. J. R. Cozens’ Lake Albano (no. 37) is a washed-out inferior version of other examples easily available.  Paul Sandby’s Royal Palace at Eltham (no. 34) is a mere example, and does not do justice to the artist’s true talent.  It would have been good to have included some more notable works painted on the Grand Tour, and to illustrate the effect of the Napoleonic Wars, which forced British artists to explore their own country – North Wales and so on.

I was, however, pleased to see the fascinating Estate Map of Smallburgh, Norfolk, 1592 (no. 81), Turner’s Blue Rigi (no. 49)and Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s Fetges (no. 57), which is a clever representation combining topography and geometric abstraction.

I am a great fan of George Pryce Boyce and loved his Streatly Mill at Sunset, 1859 (no. 74), with its warm colour and clarity of depiction.  I purchased William Simpson’s Summer in the Crimea (no. 83) for the British Museum. It shows the moment when a butterfly alights on a mortar shell with its fuse alight about to shatter this rare moment of beauty in the battlefield.  The visionary small watercolour of the Shoreham period by Samuel Palmer, A Hilly Scene (no.102)seems an improbable but interesting bedfellow for Richard Dadd’s faded The Pilot Boat (no. 105), as is Victor Hugo’s Souvenir de Normandie (no. 106), which are all included in the ‘Inner Visions’ section.

The exhibition will be popular, and I’m sure it will delight and disappoint in equal amounts but will provide interesting debates.  I am doubtful whether the catalogue (£24.99) is an essential addition to the many existing books on watercolours.  There was no glossary of terms, always useful (especially in view of the detailed explanations of the process in the curators’ texts). Why are there no numbers on the exhibits – when they are (for once) numbered in the catalogue and referred to in the text by number? This seems perverse.

This book is published by Tate Publishing, 2011.  208 pp., 168 colour illus, £24.99 (paperback). ISBN 978-1-85437-913-9.