About Robin

Occasional painter. Golfer. Fascinated by humanity. Passionate about beautiful stuff, the people who create it and its narrative.

Art Genève 2015: Go!

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If contemporary art is your thing – or you think it might be your thing – Art Genève 2015 at Geneva’s Palexpo offers you a sumptuous feast of beautiful stuff. Go this weekend.

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General Idea, “Fin de Siècle,” 1990, Mixed media

Last year, the visitor was greeted by enormous uprooted trees hanging from the ceiling. This year’s entry-point-punch-between-the-eyes is an installation by a 1980s collective of Canadian artists known as General Idea. They piled hundreds of polystyrene rectangles mimicking a compressed ice flow.

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In the middle, lie three irritatingly unreal white seal pups; they are obviously fluffy toys. This is “Fin de Siecle” (End of the Century). This is so tacky, it must be making fun of something. I consult the exhibition catalogue. I read that it’s a parody of natural history museums and romantic landscape painting. Really? The catalogue also describes the work as “cute, pathetic and cold.” I agree! Nevertheless, I would maybe add “intriguing.”

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Just opposite “Fin de Siècle” – for those of a more conservative perspective – is the gallery Mayoral from Barcelona. The space is understated, stylish and amazingly offers up small but exquisite works by Miro, Chagall, Picasso, Calder and Dali. Put the prices aside: this space alone makes a visit to Art Geneve worthwhile.

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David Zink Yi, “Octopus.” Year and medium unknown

A major event dedicated to contemporary art carries with it – almost by definition – the banal stuff, the puzzling stuff and the frankly disappointing stuff. I have difficulty connecting with huge photos of clouds, bricks on the floor (does this really still excite people?), torn paper and small ragged monotone canvases. Amongst all this though, there are many fabulous surprises. I am stopped in my tracks by David Zink Yi’s huge dismembered “Octopus.” It is fun, technically brilliant and just a little bit disgusting.

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Mounir Fatmi, “Coupe,” 2013, Cut saw blade on pedestal

I love this sculpture presented by the Keitelman Gallery of Brussels. A huge circular saw blade has beautiful Arabic letters cut out of it. It is at once delicate and vicious. Somehow, this unusual mixture of forms brings to mind everyday news of violent jihad. Perhaps it shouldn’t, but it does!

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Isa Genzken, Schauspieler, 2013, mannequin and mixed media.
Valentin Carron, Untitled, 2006, Fibreglass and acrylic paint.

This juxtaposition in the extensive Syz Collection catches my eye. Conventional and moral versus unconventional and immoral?

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Detail of “The Living Room” curated by Samuel Gross

In the all-white “The Living Room” curated by Samuel Gross I find this not very forgettable tongue-in-cheek piece.

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Marta Dell Angelo, “The Prow,” 2010, oil on Canvas 8m x 2m (approx.)

There is, however, one work that really captivates me. Congratulations to the Geneva-based foundation Art for the World for having the courage to show just one painting. And what a painting! “The Prow” by Italian painter, Marta Dell Angelo, is a huge canvas impressive in dimension and concept. At first pass, the viewer is among a crush of half-clad people who occupy and obscure the prow of a ship. All are exposed to the blazing sun.

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Detail of “The Prow”

I look closer and see people of every race, age and physical condition. Some are sunburnt; some are active; some simply lie or sit. There is a definite genital theme.

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Detail of “The Prow”

In detail, this painting is deeply disturbing. Everyone has flat and unseeing eyes. There is no obvious visual contact between anyone. The lack of human communication appalls somehow. Perplexed, I ask what this is about. The answer: migration with all its indignity and inhumanity. What have these poor, roasting and compressed souls left behind them? What awaits them? Just different versions of poverty, humiliation and exploitation?

With my mind spinning from three hours in Palexpo, I grab my bicycle and head for home unaware that I am in for yet another surprise. The wind on Quai Wilson bites. It is beginning to snow. In the dark, I notice yet more great sculptures on the lakeside lawns. This is a generous public extension of Art Genève 2015. Bravo!

The knives of Blackbird Valley

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The knife is perfectly balanced in my hand. It reminds of a scalpel: the healing steel. The honed blade glows dully. The handle is the fine antler of a one-year old stag. I want to use this knife but for a delicate task. It is made by Ross Johnston, master knife-maker, at his Blackbird Valley forge near Nelson, New Zealand.

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Nelson – at the top of the South Island – was originally a small town serving an agricultural community. The climate is fabulous. The area is now a beach destination and the surrounding sheep farms are largely replaced by vineyards, olive groves and orchards. Many creative spirits have made this area their home; there are numerous galleries and studios all brimming with beautiful stuff. It is probably most famous as the birth place of the World of WearableArt.

But today, I am looking for something more earthy; some uncut gemstone of kiwi beautiful stuff. A friend tells me I should meet Ross at his forge. This former steeple-jack and deep sea diver has been making knives from recycled steel for forty years. His knives are his life and his passion. He is a big man with a big smile and big hands and a big handshake. He is one big good old kiwi bloke! He gives me a big welcome. His knife shop is faced with sections of massive bandsaw-blades from local timber mills. Next to the door is the rib of a whale and a ceramic party-dress made by a friend. (So Nelson!) But before I see the display of finished knives, I want to see the forge: the first lines in the narrative of the knives of Blackbird Valley.

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The forge is everything I expect from a one-man outfit working steel: functional, untidy and honest. I am immediately drawn to what is simply scattered on the ground in front. I walk over fragments of old circular saw-blades, cut-up bandsaw-blades and vehicle springs. It is difficult to believe these can be transformed into beautiful glistening knives. Also strewn around are deer antlers from trophy stags for the knife handles. This is the uncut raw material of Ross’s beautiful stuff.

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Ross displays his knives on a deer-skin. He recites the provenance of each blade whether Honda leaf-spring, circular saw-blade or part of a 19th century carriage spring found when digging in his garden. Ross is familiar with the properties and apperance – raw and worked – of each.

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He shows me a huge Bowie-style knife. Not really my thing. But I pick it up. It also has a pleasing weight and feel. It begs to be used. I wonder if I might just be ready for a discussion with Croc Dundee. What I love about it is that the blade is made from a huge wood rasp; this gives it a unique, scaley and rather sinister look.

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I then spy a knife that Ross has put aside assuming that I would not be interested. It is a simple flat file fashioned into an exquisite kitchen knife. The handle part has been made by cleverly twisting the file around itself so as to produce a perfect fit for my hand. It speaks to me. I fall for it and buy it. I feel its edge and see it slicing through the skin of a ripe tomato.

The knives of Blackbird Valley raise the whole question of aesthetics and function and the aesthetics of function. These are beautifully crafted objects without doubt; but the perception of beauty comes from picking them up, turning them in one’s hand and imagining their use. They become beautiful objects when looked at in terms of their potential function.

The Blackbird Valley forge is worth a visit. It’s real-deal kiwi. And… you’ll find a knife that speaks to you!

Victoria’s Great Petition

The sun is rising. Jet-lag numbuzzes my head. I follow signs to the taxi rank at Melbourne’s Tullamarine airport. Ahmed is just a bit too chatty as he drives. He left Pakistan ten years ago. He loves Australia. “I got rights here, mate, you know!” I reflect that had he arrived here over a hundred years ago, he may not have said the same. When it comes to racial discrimination, this country has come a long way. (May be further than Switzerland!!) I am just in time for breakfast.

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“Great Petition,” 2008 by Susan Hewitt and Penelope Lee. Steel and bluestone.

Eggs Benedict force a stroll for a block or two. I squint gritty-eyed into a dazzling blue sky. Rush hour traffic and trams rush and rattle by. On a quieter patch of green behind the imposing Victoria State Houses of Parliament I find a huge creamy-white scroll-like metal structure unfurling itself. It speaks to time and paper and lots of both.

“Great Petition” by Susan Hewitt and Penelope Lee is urban sculpture at its best. It is at once arresting and intriguing. I love its setting and its narrative of political challenge. I tap it gently and think of the technical challenge of its construction.

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The Monster Petition – as it was then known – is 260 metres long and so heavy it had to be man(!)handled into the Victorian Parliament for its deposition in 1891. The Women’s Christian Temperance Union and the Victorian Women’s Suffrage Society amassed 30,000 signatures as evidence of the widespread support for equal voting rights for women. After several parliamentary setbacks, the Adult Suffrage Act was eventually passed in 1908. However, the State of Victoria denied aboriginal women their political rights until 1962.

Hewitt and Lee consulted widely in the design stage of their work. One emphatic request was made by a prominent ex-Parliamentarian: “Make it big so the blokes can see it!” When it comes to discrimination against women, this country has come a long way.