Abstract Expressionism at the RA

 When I have mentioned to friends and colleagues that I went to this exhibition, I have generally been met with a kind of rabbit-in-the-headlights look somewhere between fear and bafflement. If you're not familiar with contemporary art it might sound a bit highbrow but please, PLEASE don't let that put you off; you absolutely do not need to be any kind of expert to go and to enjoy it (exhibit A, my good self). Perhaps more than any other kind of art, it is all about feeling, not knowing. However, if some kind of definition helps . . .

What is Abstract Expressionism (or Ab Ex to its friends)? Well, if we agree that abstract art is generally art that is not 'representative' - i.e. is not a 'representation', or copy, of something in the outside world - and that expressionism is about expressing your thoughts, feelings and ideas - then I guess a reasonable working definition would be that Abstract Expressionists aim to communicate something from the artist's inner world without necessarily using anything in the external world to do this. (Apologies to all the art historians out there who are currently doing a very good impression of Munch's Scream, but hey, it works for me.)

Actually, there are those who would argue that Abstract Expressionism is not a movement or group at all - primarily, most of the artists within it. Rothko famously stated, 'I am not an abstractionist. I'm not interested in relationships of colour or form or anything else. I'm interested only in expressing basic human emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, doom and so on'. The paintings don't really share a particular style; in fact, the canvasses are so full of spontaneity and individuality that apparently the CIA covertly funded Abstract Expressionist exhibitions during the Cold War as an act of propaganda, to lure intellectuals and artists away from Communism by comparing the freedom of these deeply subjective works with the the rigid confines limiting creativity under Soviet rules.

However, the term has stuck as a useful way of referring to a group of artists working in New York in the 1940s and 50s. This period just after the Second World War was, as you might expect, a time of freedom and release, of great explosive energy and creativity, of jazz and Jack Kerouac. One of the comments I found most interesting on the audio guide was about Jackson Pollock and the physical act of creating the works, sometimes called 'gesture' or 'action' painting; it did not just involve the wrist and hand, like traditional painting, but the whole arm - even the whole body; expansive, sweeping movements, requiring a completely different energy and control. Also, suddenly the artist was not standing still in front of a vertical canvas but moving around above a horizontal one; in Blue Poles, paint was dropped from up to two feet above the canvas.

Another common factor you will notice is the scale of the canvasses. Pollock was commissioned to paint Mural for the entrance hall of Peggy Guggenheim's Manhattan townhouse; this was his largest canvas to date and was followed by both Rothko and Gorky producing their largest works the following year. The temptation when viewing it is to stand back and look at the whole painting from a distance, but it was always meant to be seen up close, in a relatively confined space compared to a gallery. Viewing it like this you both appreciate the detail and feel almost engulfed by it, drawn into the energy.

At the heart of the exhibition, in the Central room, are the Rothkos. I will always have a special place in my heart for Rothko and these gorgeous, hypnotic, melancholy paintings; years ago, being taken to the Seagram Murals room in the Tate Modern was a revelatory experience for me and sparked my love of contemporary art. For me, in this exhibition, it was No 15 (Dark Greens on Blue with Green Band) 1957 that drew me in and kept me standing there; somehow, once you stop trying to rationalise them, they connect with you in a way I can't explain but which fascinates me. Luminous, intense and captivating, no print or photograph will ever be able to do them justice.

One of the unexpected gifts of this exhibition was the work of Clyfford Still, an artist I wasn't familiar with before this. In my defence, Still rejected the commercialism of the art world (a pet hate of Rothko's too) and moved to a farm in Maryland, selling hardly any of his paintings; 95% of his work is in a museum dedicated to him in Denver, Colorado and this is one of the few times they have loaned it out. I'm very glad they did, as they are powerful and striking pieces, again designed to actively involve the viewer.

So, even if you think you're not into abstract art, go to this exhibition. Go on your own so you don't have to react in any particular way, and go with an open mind. Don't worry about understanding them, don't try to define what they are about, or of; just stand, look and wait.

Yours, enthralled all over again,

London Girl About Town xx

10 Greek Street

10 Greek Street is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it white tile and matt black-fronted restaurant in the road parallel to Frith Street down from Soho Square, an area already blessed with some of the best eateries in town. Opened around 18 months ago and run by Luke Wilson (ex manager of Exmouth Market's The Ambassador and Liberty Wines rep) at front of house and Cameron Emirali (former Head Chef of the Wapping Project) in the kitchen, there is a no-reservations policy for dinner, although you can book lunch or the private dining room.

The no-frills approach continues inside with a stripped down but stylish, relaxing interior: dark-grouted white rectangular wall tiles (which always remind me of those grand Victorian bathrooms, but in a good way), garden flowers in milk bottles, bare walls and blackboards displaying the daily changing menu. The cutlery is in a container at your table, which gave me a sudden post-traumatic stress flashback to eating in Texas until a glance at the menu brought me back to the here and now.

The menu segues between tasting plates, starters and main courses; we had a sharing head on, and our unflappable waitress was happy to oblige. You can have tapas-y nibbles, starters, starter portions of main courses and/or main courses shared between two, and that's before you get to the desserts. Oh, and even though the menu changes daily, they still have specials: while we were perusing the menu, we plumped for the starter special, a Parmesan-crusted duck egg with truffle mayonnaise.

Truffles are like expensive perfume - a little goes an awfully long way, and they can very easily become overpowering and unpleasant. I need not have feared, as this was a spectacular introduction to our evening; the egg was perfectly soft-centred, the coating beautifully golden and crisp and the truffle mayonnaise flavoured with a deft but sparing hand.

We decided to share a combination of starter options and then see how we felt about ordering a main. The first to arrive was the octopus, potatoes and paprika; for me, this was a perfect summer dish that looked beautiful and reminded me of long mellow evenings at a beach-side taverna or trattoria. Generous pieces of unexpectedly tender octopus, peppery olive oil and the spike of paprika balanced perfectly with soft chunks of potatoes to soak up all the flavours - wonderful.

10 Greek Street also has an excellent and very reasonably-priced wine list that gives you the choice of a small 125ml glass, a 375ml carafe, or a bottle for most of the wines available, meaning you can easily and affordably marry up wines and dishes should you choose to. We went for a carafe of the crisp and citrussy Vermentino, which was really good and went well with everything we ordered.

Next to arrive was the spaghettini, girolles, leeks and summer truffle: again this was a really carefully put together dish, the flavours complementing each other beautifully. It was quite a sizeable portion for a starter, especially considering that it is very buttery and quite filling. We then had the clams, chorizo and peas which was again a good size, served with toasted home-made bread. I was beginning to appreciate that the decor (and indeed the website) reflect the whole ethos of the food at 10 Greek Street: nothing fussy, nothing pretentious, nothing unnecessary, concentrating on quality and balanced (although sometimes unexpected) combinations that really work. This was delicious; excellent chorizo, again not allowed to overpower the dish but complementing the clams and the fresh peas beautifully.

It was at this point, just as we had decided that we couldn't fit in a main course and would head straight for desserts, that the table next to us got their dish of rare spring lamb, white beans, preserved lemon, watercress and chilli. I knew I wasn't hungry enough but I couldn't help feeling a pang of envy, it looked so good. I suspect that every diner in the place was mentally planning their next meal there - although of course you can't as the menu changes daily, depending on seasonal influences and Emirali's gifted imagination.

Chatting to owner Luke Wilson, I asked how he would characterise a menu that offered dishes as diverse as monkfish wrapped in vine leaves, spaghettini with girolles and plaice with brown shrimp. Acknowledging a strong Mediterranean influence together with a classic British feel but given a fresh and inspired twist, and given that 'Cam's cuisine' is not yet a recognised term in food writing (though give it time - Cameron Emirali has both vision and talent, and lots of it), 'Modern European' is about the closest fit.

We chose two very different desserts to share - a gooseberry and elderflower crumble with crème anglaise (basically a very light pouring custard) and raspberry sorbet with vodka. Neither disappointed; the crumble was light and beautifully textured, the fruit retaining just enough sharpness, and the sorbet was smooth, fresh and zingy, with the vodka adding a little kick of interest at the end.

If you haven't tried 10 Greek Street yet, or if the pared-down look has put you off, go. Go now. Trust me, you won't be disappointed - this place is a gem. I'm already planning my next trip.

Yours, a new card-carrying Cam Cuisine groupie,

Girl About Town xx

But is it art? Damien Hirst at the Tate Modern

I give myself the same Christmas present every year; an annual membership (myself plus guest) to the Tate. As a fan of contemporary art this enables me to swan around all four Tates as I choose, taking friends willy-nilly into exhibitions that are otherwise £10-15 per ticket, as often as I like throughout the whole year. And I can then retire to the Members' Room and people-watch until my feet recover. Bargain.

The Damien Hirst exhibition (until 9th September) at the Tate Modern covers over twenty years of the no-longer-quite-so Young British Artist's work, so off I went to take a look.
http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/exhibition/damien-hirst

The exhibition opens with the forerunners of his famous Spot paintings; cheerfully-coloured boxes and pans from Hirst's student days. It's like looking at pictures of a celebrity when they were a baby - then in the next room you're straight into the flip side of the Hirst fame coin, mortality and death. A severed cow's head surrounded by flies - themselves living and dying in the (thankfully) enclosed space - dominates the room; not only visually, but get too close and you can smell it. Hirst himself called it 'a nasty piece' that simultaneously pulls you in and pushes you away; somehow it made me think of the people who slow down on the motorway to gawp at an accident on the other side.

Butterflies are major players in the exhibition too: trapped in the paint of limpidly coloured canvases, in circles like the kaleidoscopes of childhood or living out their brief span in In and Out of Love. I feel bad that they will never see a meadow, but I guess I'm supposed to. Butterflies are perfect memento mori I think because they are so extravagantly fragile and beautiful, yet their lives are so brief. I particularly liked Doorways to the Kingdom of Heaven where they are used to make stained glass windows, a backdrop to a statue of an angel half-flayed like an anatomy model.

Those looking for Hirst's famed shark in formaldehyde will be happy - there are two in this exhibition, along with bisected cows and a black sheep. The one that I found most affecting was the Incomplete Truth; a single dove, captured as if in flight, a kind of simple hope and hopelessness mixed together.

For the merely idly curious and/or the seriously skint, For the Love of God (the iconic £50 million diamond-encrusted skull) could be viewed together with a brief explanatory background video, for free in the Turbine Hall. Sadly, this display has since been closed. There was a bit of a queue, but it was worth it; death has never been more beautifully dressed. 
Hirst is frequently attacked as a purveyor of 'con art' - art which is both conceptual and cons people. I don't pretend to be any kind of expert on art; when I go to an exhibition I just wander around and see what happens, and on the whole I enjoyed this one. For those who sneer at his iconic spot paintings and say 'I could have done that', I just smile and say 'But you didn't, did you?' (Of course some would say actually neither did Hirst - but that's another story!)

Try it - you might like it.






Yours thoughtfully,

Girl About Town xx