Wuthering Heights

Last night I saw Wuthering Heights at Birmingham Rep . Adapted by April de Angelis, it demonstrated the hallmarks of her innovation and style. I must confess I had been rather dubious beforehand; the translation of an epic book like Wuthering Heights into a stage play is no small task, and one that's difficult to do well, especially given the audience expectations that are likely to go with it! To reduce Wuthering Heights, a substantial novel, to a 2 hour 20 minutes play is no mean feat, and with such a complicated plot as well it does mean that it's rather the bare bones of the plot, but given the difficulties it was well done, and the set was well-adapted for the scene changes. The moors are ever present, projected in the background, which worked very well, bringing the wildness of the scenery into the houses.

Susannah York as Nelly Dean absolutely stole the show, as far as I'm concerned - as both narrator of the tale, and participant in events, she really comes to the fore in this production. Amanda Ryan was a good Cathy, though - she certainly looked the part, and had the right mixture of passion, joie de vivre and despair, playing her deathbed scenes in a manner reminiscent of Ophelia (an appropriate comparison on several levels, I think). I was a little dubious about Anthony Byrne as Heathcliff, though - of course, so much is invested in the part by those who know the book, but somehow he seemed more a bit cross than deep and angry, and his maltreatment of Isabella Linton just seemed a little unconvincing - as though he has a good heart, really.

Given that Birmingham has been taken over by the Conservative party conference, I was disappointed not to see David Cameron there, checking out the true nature of our present Prime Minister...How could Gordon Brown have compared himself to Heathcliff? I assume he hasn't read the book, and thinks it means he is a deep man of few words...not an uneducated, wife-beating, sadistic, misanthropic man.

Gwen John at the Barber Institute

Last weekend I went to see Reunited: Gwen John, Mere Poussepin and the Catholic Church at the Barber Institute of Fine Arts, University of Birmingham, and was surprised and pleased to find a different John to the one I had enjoyed at the Tate’s John retrospective a few years ago. The exhibition blurb explains the background to these portraits:
"Gwen John’s move to Meudon in France in 1911 marked the beginning of fundamental changes for the artist, in both personal and artistic terms. In about 1913, John was received into the Roman Catholic Church, and, in that year, was commissioned by the nuns in the town’s convent to create a portrait of their seventeenth-century founder, Mère Poussepin. This first commission developed into requests for five more versions — one for each room of the convent. In this exhibition, the Barber’s own version of the portrait—one of the most popular paintings in the collection — is reunited with other versions of the picture. These are complemented by a series of drawings showing women, orphans and schoolgirls in church, as well as sketches of nuns, priests and a cardinal — and even the Pope himself."
John was given a prayer card with a portrait of Mere Poussepin, from which to paint the portraits. This she did painstakingly over 16 reworked versions, changing aspects of it along the way whilst retaining the "pure perfection" of the holy woman’s face. The earlier ones depict Mere Poussepin looking severe, or even slightly smug, sitting at a table with a book; the later ones are simplified (such as the one shown here), having done away with the props and with the beatific face of the nun radiating her divine beliefs.

The exhibition demonstrates John's own convictions and her reverence for the spiritual life which she discovered after turning to Catholicism following the end of her relationship with Rodin. The paintings carried out in the French convent demonstrate a completely human face of the contemplative, devotional life which is spiritually uplifting. This little exhibition gives a totally different insight into John's work than any I had had before, though I am not sure I endorse the comment of Charles Darwent in the Telegraph, who called these paintings "Austen for the eyes" - this is something far more reverential and divine - perhaps a visualised Christina Rossetti...

There is a small "virtual exhibition" on the Barber's website if you want to see more.

DIUS Expo 08

Anyway, after my trip to Russia it's back to work and reality. I was pleased to be invited to attend the Department for Innovation, Universities and Skills Expo 08: One Year On, to celebrate DIUS's anniversary, as a new department, and to have the opportunity to consider what has been done in that year. The first workshop I attended was from Research Councils UK, talking about "Unlocking the Talents of UK Researchers". Obviously, as a (largely unfunded) researcher myself, this was something I was particularly interested to hear about. The speaker gave some background, stating that in terms of bibliometric data, the UK's researchers are second in ranking only the the US, and are the most productive in a G8 country. Moreover, we're international, apparently - nearly half of postgrads and 1 in 7 academics are from overseas.
The research councils' missions are to support research excellence (good!) However, as the speaker admitted, although the seven research councils cover all possible areas of research, there is still an emphasis on STEM subjects (science, engineering, technology and mathematics). Research, it seems, still equals science. All seven councils have common missions (which I believe can be found on the RCUK website, if you care!)
RCUK have three particular ways of helping researchers: Providing skills/skilled people; stimulating ideas, and providing opportunities. The skills aspect is largely about training, it seems, and the skills needed by researchers include: research techniques, entreprenerial skills, public engagement, management, personal effectiveness, communication skills and networking. Fair enough - mostly. However, I am a little more dubious about aligning research with public policy - yes, to a certain extent that helps to put the universities on the agenda and ensures that much-needed research is being done. But that must not be at the cost of "blue skies" research, in any discipline. (Kind of related to this, an interesting article in the Times Higher talks about universities' role in working with innovation). There are six programmes running involving three or more research councils, and they are: Living with environmental change; Energy; Ageing: Lifelong health and wellbeing; Global Uncertainties: security for all in a changing world; Digital Economy; Nanotechnology through engineering to application. All worthy, but you know, I don't see much room for Victorian poetry, heritage, culture etc there.
In fact, I was at the Expo as part of a panel, representing the National Student Forum - and if you don't know what that is, hopefully you will do soon as we are about to release a report. We're 16 students from across the UK, working with DIUS to represent the student voice, and, building on reports from Student Juries across the country, help the government tackle issues such as finance, teaching standards, employability, accomodation, information and support, etc. We had a session in the afternoon with Baroness Morgan, Minister for Students, who has been immensely supportive of us, and it was great to see that so many of the delegates are genuinely interested in helping to make the lives of students better.

The Pushkin Museum of Art, Moscow

The Pushkin Museum is devoted to European Fine Arts, and is the most amazing place, containing many paintings which are familiar to me but I had assumed they were in the Louvre, or somewhere in the UK. Paying particular attention to the nineteenth century (of course!), I managed to get lost here, but it was worth it!

Goya, Monet, Manet, Corot, Whistler, Seurrat, Van Gogh, Cezanne - so many big names here, but the gallery proved a useful reminder that it's not the names but the sheer amazingness of seeing the paintings, in the flesh (so to speak) that is important. For example, Corot's Diana Bathing is so sculptural, so cold and yet lifelike, erotic and shadowy, and it's hard to get a sense of that in a reproduction (see right). It should be a cliche, but somehow it isn't.

It amused me somewhat to see Alma Tadema's Queen Fredegonda at the deathbed of Bishop Praesextatus, so English, quasi-Pre-Raphaelite, and somehow unexpected! I was also pleased to see Toulouse-Lautrec's Yvette Gilbert singing "Linger Longer Loo" (1894) (left) - it should be a caricature, almost silly, but it isn't - such expression, it appeals to me. Oh, and so many Degas' - ballet dancers, nudes - always less chocolate-box and more moving in the flesh, especially Dancer posing for a photographer - an interesting set-up. Of course, there were many artists I hadn't heard of, such as Jean-Louis Forain, whose 1880 painting Leaving the Masquerade Ball at the Grand Opera particularly interested me - it should be just a society picture, but seemed much more than that, with a mysterious twist in that the women's faces were obscured, not by masks.

Other highlights were Sisley, who manages to make French landscapes look so English (to my Anglicised eyes!), and Monet's White Water Lilies, so verdant and much less clicheed than I usually think of Monet. Also, while I'm not usually than keen on Renoir, Girls in Black (1880) is contemplative, quiet, while his 1876 Nude (right) seems to me a triumph of female sexuality over the male viewer (discuss!) Van Gogh, always so exuberant and somehow surprising, managed to surprise me again - Red Vineyard is great but The Sea at Saintes-Maries (1888) I love - such thick paint, so reminiscent of the movement of the sea. Another delight was Pierre Puvis de Chavannes The Companion (1887), which seemed almost medieval in style, perhaps reminiscent of Burne Jones's medievalism, while the male presence seems to contain a threatening sexuality despite the anodyne title of the painting. I hadn't seen before, but liked, Buffet's drawings of Notre Dame de Paris, which had an appealing symmetry, seeming to reference th draughtsmanship of an earlier age, reducing perfect architecture to a few lines without losing their beauty.

The Fauvist painter Albert Marquet was someone I hadn't come across before (more info here). His industrial cityscapes have an amazing beauty all there own - it's very much about "the painter's eye" here - and he paints water - from sea to canal - amazingly, with a visible, believable thickness.

The highlight of the museum, though, must be the Matisses. There's a whole room of them, wonderfully vivid still lifes, which test one's perception of perspective. I still can't work out why I find them so visually satisfying, but I do. The ones here were Corner of an Artist's Studio (1912), The Pink Studio (1911) (left), Nasturtiums, La Danse II (both 1912), Goldish (1911) and Arums, Iris and Mimosa (1912) - a blaze of colour and movement. It's worth going to Moscow just for these.

The Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

I know virtually nothing about Russian art – well, I know a bit more now. We had amazingly informative guides in Russia, who seem to be as knowledgeable about art criticism and history as they are about restaurants, palaces and everything else. The Old Tretyakov gallery gives a taste of Russian art up to the nineteenth century, and there’s too much there for me to do more that give a synopsis. This is a very shortened version of my notes!
The first painting I saw was a portrait of Pushkin by Orev Kiprensky, which immediately reminded me of Byron (the hair and swathed tartan) – it turns out that indeed this was Pushkin’s homage to Byron and Burns, who were his heroes (Byron I can understand; not so sure about Burns). I must explore the Pushkin-Byron connection – Onegin and Don Juan, anyone? In fact this is the only portrait for which Pushkin ever sat; other images were taken from memory or other pictures. Pushkin liked it so much he wrote a poem about it.
I was interested to hear about a serf, Argunov, who painted well, and thus was allowed by the family to have lessons and learn to paint professionally. After painting a remarkable portrait of the family – surprisingly sympathetically, I thought – Argunov was freed from serfdom and permitted to establish a career as an artist. This story, it seems, was repeated throughout history; many serfs were cruelly treated and died as a result of malnutrition and overwork, but some were also trained in various arts, and given their freedom as a tribute to their skill.
One of the central pieces in the gallery was Ivanov’s The Appearance of Christ before People. This is a huge painting, which took ten years to paint (1837-1857) in Italy. In its realist detail it’s both fascinating and slightly alarming! – Ivanov felt that he wanted to paint the most important event that had ever happened, and chose the appearance of Christ to ordinary people, taking in their responses, which range from overjoyed to sentimental to what looks like sceptical. In the foreground a man is sorting out clothes, perhaps foreshadowing the soldiers dicing for Christ’s clothes after the Crucifixion. In fact, that man is a self-portrait by the artist. John the Baptist also features, carrying a cross. It’s the kind of painting you can look at dozens of times and still see different things.
A painting which particularly appealed to me was Zelentsov’s Indoors Drawing Room, which I can’t find an image of but showed a typically Russian interior, reminding me that though there are some obvious parallels with European art of the same time, Russia was – and is – a very different place, and therein perhaps lies its attraction for me.
Speaking of European parallels, though, there were a surprising number of narrative paintings from the 1840s which are highly reminiscent of paintings frequently used to illustrate the covers of Victorian novels nowadays! The titles tell you all you need to know: The Major’s Proposal, The Fastidious Bride, The French Cavalier, The Young Widow, all by Fedotov, and almost Hogarthian in their sequential depiction of social life. Other paintings, such as Troika (Perov, 1866) are akin to nineteenth-century sentimentalisation of children.
I was pleased to see what is apparently the best portrait of Dostoevsky (left), also by Perov. This portrait, so sombre and muted, seems in its interiority to be as much a portrait of the writer’s mind as his face – as are all the best portraits. Actually I was rather taken with Perov’s work – Christ in the Garden at Gethsemane was also an interesting painting.
Another artist who appealed to me was Aivazovsky – follow this link to see more! He painted the Black Sea in all its moods and changes, as well as wonderful almost naïve paintings of St Petersburg showing the five buildings of the Hermitage. Many of these mid-19th century paintings of Russia are amazing - archetypal images such as cityscapes, sledging on the frozen Neva, battles, countrysides. There was a room devoted to war - the futility of it, the pointless loss of life, and in today's political climate this was no less moving than when they were first displayed.

Finally, we saw many ikons - from the fourteenth century until the seventeenth century, since between those periods they were the only form of artistic expression permitted in Russia. Many of them are immediately identifiable as Russian Orthodox - the colours, the jewels, they might not appeal to everyone, but they are fabulous!

Tess of the BBC

While I am happy to applaud the BBC for its high-minded intentions in its production of Tess (Sundays, BBC One), I am instinctively dubious about any production that describes itself as "lavish", a word always over-used in conjunction with costume dramas. Since I haven’t read the book for a while now, I decided to revisit it along with the series, which perhaps isn’t the best idea as it has caused some ranting at the television (and thus disturbing my more down-to-earth husband’s viewing). Really, as these things go, it’s not bad. Gemma Arterton (below) actually does look a bit like Hardy’s description, and even the bucolic excesses of maidens in white dancing in a field largely fits with the novel. Actually, the BBC’s Tess is quite close to the plot of the book, so far; what it hasn’t achieved, as the Times reviewer points out, is the "muckiness" – Hardy’s gory scene when the Durbeyfield horse is killed, for example. And what was with the fog during the rape scene? It did cover up things the BBC might prefer not to portray, but I was expecting aliens to emerge from the X-Files mist at any moment.
My problem with it, I think, is neatly summed up in an interesting review of Tess in the Times, "Fun, but is it Hardy?" The review mentions what critic David Thomson calls "the indecency of the visual", and that seems a brilliant way of putting it; books make good films/TV series, but what they make is films/TV series; the book gets lost no matter how closely they stick to the plot. What they can’t do is genuinely recreate the spirit of the book, and somehow the visualisation loses the nuances and makes it "indecent" – not necessarily in a sexual sense, though sometimes that too, but in a slightly mis-translated way. It’s the old chestnut about "the book is better than the film" – well, nearly always yes, but the film isn’t the book, and serves a different purpose (Sunday evening viewing for the middle-classes, usually). Sadly, some of us (ie those who work with Victorian literature – or me, at least) can’t just be entertained, and just watch crossly as the clunky references to class distinction, gender differences and a bucolic past are swept across the screen for the uncritical viewer. I wish I could just relax and enjoy it.

From Russia with love...

I have recently returned from a lovely week in Russia. After visiting St. Petersburg on my honeymoon, I’ve been hoping for another chance to visit, and it didn’t disappoint. We had a few days in Moscow first, which I loved, and was very impressed by Moscow State University (picture right). A friend said that although Petersburg was beautiful, she preferred Moscow because it’s more Russian, and I agree, I think. The city smells of fuel and fried potatoes; it was unfeasibly warm when we arrived, and the traffic is appalling, but it’s just such an amazing city, and has an indefinable buzz about it – much as I find in London. We did the usual tourist stuff – the Kremlin (see photo left), the Tretyakov gallery of Russian art (which I’ll post seperately), the Novodevichiy convent, Red Square etc. I think the convent was one of my favourite places, actually: such peace in the heart of the city (yes, a cliché, I know, but it’s true) and the architecture and colours of the Russian Orthodox church, with the gilding, the icons, the faint smell of incense – to me it seems so utterly foreign and exotic, and very appealing. The Cathedral of Christ the Saviour is particularly beautiful, brilliantly-gilded and adorned with ikons inside, and is apparently where Medvedev attends services, yet there were young women in headscarves standing in front of the ikons in genuine devotion, ignoring the tourists.
The Russians certainly revere their artists and writers, which the cemetery next to the convent displays; there are extravagent monuments to Russian writers, artists, actors, dancers (see grave of Galina Ulanova, right), as well as politicians, surgeons and scientists. The reverence for Pushkin is also striking, and admirable – it seems less aimed at tourists than, say "Shakespeare’s Stratford" and "Jane Austen’s Hampshire", as British tourist boards clunkily define them, and more about a deep local respect for their own. I read some of Eugene Onegin whilst travelling, since my knowledge of Pushkin is limited, and it’s incredible – the facility of expression, the sparkling, butterfly nature of the subject matter – and that’s reading it in translation, which I gather is almost impossible since Pushkin’s fluid use of Russian not only forged a new poetic sensibility in the nineteenth century but also made him extremely difficult to translate. I am working on my Russian now with the aim of one day reading himin the original! (On the left is a pic of a statue of Pushkin.)
St. Petersburg seems (as Jonathan Dimbleby says) to be more Western-facing, somehow superficial city – the facades of the palaces along the Neva seem to be part of the display put on for the tourists. However, I’m reluctant to see the city as only the playground of socialites (despite Onegin’s propensity to do so) because it has had a much more complex history than this; thousands of serfs died during the founding of the city; and more recently, as Leningrad it was besieged by the Nazis during World War II (or the Great Patriotic War, as the Russians term it). Our guide told us a great deal about the damage done to palaces and historic monuments by the Nazi occupiers as they attempted to close in on the city, and about the starvation and bravery of the citizens ("Some people froze to death but would not burn their libraries", she said; "This is how they looked to the future, and preserved their heritage".) Many palaces, such as Pavluvsk, Catherine’s Palace and even the Peterhof, are still undergoing restoration more than sixty years later. The staff at the palaces took photographs and hid artefacts before the Nazis took over, and from these they are still gradually rebuilding and restoring. Life is, perhaps, cheaper in Russia than in Europe, but heritage is precious, and highly valued. Holding onto the past for the sake of the future is clearly important, and not just for the tourist industry; Russians genuinely feel their history in a way that not even the British do, I think.

Culture and Anarchy?

Read this. I agree (mostly): It's the culture, stupid.