Author Archives: Robin

About Robin

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

Be surprised at the Ariana Museum!

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The Ariana Museum is a sumptuous, impressive structure set back from Avenue de la Paix in Geneva. It was built in 1884 by Gustave Riviliod to house his private collection of objets d’art. He named it after his mother, Ariane de la Rive. It’s formal title now is the Swiss Museum of Ceramics and Glass. From the outside, you would be forgiven for thinking it is some sort of presidential palace (except that Switzerland has no President!). The interior does not disappoint; its polished marbled arches and smooth granite columns are imposing. It is quiet and cool. Entrance to the permanent collection is free. The staff are very polite.

If I am honest, a whole museum dedicated to glass and ceramics has never really “floated my boat” as the Americans would say. But one thing takes me back there regularly: its permanent collection contains a marble bust that is the most beautiful sculpture in existence. There, I’ve said it! And when you go and see it – as you should – you will agree. She lives. If you watch her for long enough, her eyes open for a quick peak at you! And just imagine… this was chipped out of a rock! Luigi! Hat off to you!

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“Femme voilée” (Veiled woman) by Luigi Guglielmi (1834-1907).

The other work I love is right next to the main entrance. It is elemental, elegant, delicate and kinetic but, at the same time, solid in a weighty, glass-and-steel kind of way.

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“Pagan Remembrance” (2008) by Philip Baldwin and Monika Guggisberg.

I go to the Ariana every couple of months or so for a rendez-vous with my veiled lady. I play with the idea of inviting her to lunch at the discrete little restaurant on the first floor. So I cannot really claim that I was going to see the current temporary exhibition: “8 artists & clay.” I decided to have a look. This luscious collection of contemporary ceramics was a total surprise. And it floats my boat! It’s a must see. The extensive basement is dedicated to the work of Claude Champy, Bernard Dejonghe, Philippe Godderidge, Michel Muraour, Setsuko Nagasawa, Daniel Pontoreau and Camille Virot. I am intrigued by their imagination. Their arresting and provocative pieces are generously and very tastefully exhibited. It is calming to wander around them and to soak up the warm colours. The voice of temptation says “Go on, Robin! Nobody will see if you run your hand over those delicious textures!”

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In the foreground is Philippe Godderidge’s “Demeures” (2013). The space behind is dedicated to a number of works by Michel Muraour.

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The space given over to Bernard Dejonghe features his five black enamalled wall-pieces of “Areshima”(2008).

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A mixture of porcelain and orange clay “Sculptures” (2008-2012) by Setsuko Nagasawa.

Upstairs and taking pride of place in this exhibition, is a large collection of the late Jacqueline Lerat’s work. It is an acknowledgement of her revolutionary contribution to modern ceramics. The pieces are warm and earthy but with unexpected little flashes of colour. They have a comfortable appeal as though they would really be happier in people’s homes. I want to pick them up and feel their weightness. (A polite man wearing a white shirt, a dark tie and a radio watches me carefully as I photograph them.)

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Sculpture au cercle blanc (1990) & Sculpture et végétaux (1985).

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Femme assise au grand chapeau (1962).

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Trois pousses verte et un pied rose (2003).

And there’s more… If you want a moment of reflection on leaving the Ariana, you can find a wonderful bronze of Mahatma Ghandi only fifty metres from the front door. It is a gift from the Republic of India to Geneva. Around its base, the grass is worn away by the countless people who stop, reflect and take photos. Perhaps they hope he will briefly lift his eyes from his reading?

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“Mahatma Ghandi: My life is my message” by Gautam Pal (2007).

If contemporary ceramics floats your boat, then paddle your way down to the Ariana. You’re in for a quite some surprise. The “8 artists & clay” exhibition closes on 8 September but the veiled woman will still be there.

The Asian photography of Robert Ramser

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Ramser 1I am offered a friendly welcome. Quietly and modestly, I am shown about a hundred photographs taken from neatly stacked boxes. Mesmerising images of Himalayan villages, abandoned temples, animals, people, poverty and more pass before my eyes. There is a distinct style: the pictures are crisp, delicate and enduring. It is difficult to imagine the photographer’s presence in these scenes. I feel that if I were to retrace his steps, nothing would have changed. And this is the real deal: all the black and white photographs are developed by hand from medium-format film. I am overawed by the accomplishment and overdose on photographic beautiful stuff. I have difficulty finding questions that are not banal.

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Rice fields, Yunnan, 2002

I have the privilege of meeting photographer Robert Ramser at his house in rural France. He is a calm, elegant man. The domestic atmosphere is unhurried and orderly. All around is beautiful stuff that speaks to his passion for the orient. Over Darjeeling tea, his life story unfolds. He grew up in Arles and watched the arrival there of the international photographic festival. He fell into the photographic scene, rubbing shoulders with Adams, Harbutt, Lartigue and McCullin. In 1974, the photographic neophyte moved to a small flat in Paris. A friend said he should visit the tiny Himalayan kingdom of Sikkim. He did. He returned to Paris with an idea of his future. The bathroom became a darkroom. He married Corinne, his Vietnamese neighbour.

Ramser feels at ease and indeed happy among the cultures and the people throughout Asia. He travels for up to three months at a time so immersing himself in his destination. However, photography is not necessarily the main aim; it simply serves to let him see beautiful stuff that he would not have seen, to meet extraordinary people that he would not have met and to stay longer than he would have in interesting places. He is not out to make a statement.

One of his widely exhibited series focuses on the secluded minorities of the “Forgotten hills” of the Ghizou and Yunnan provinces of south-west China.

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A Yi family, Yunnan, 2002

In keeping with his fascination for Himalayan kingdoms, another series studies the Bhutanese concept of gross national happiness.

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Tang, 2010

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Thimphu, 2009

In Mumbai, he took refuge from the Indian heat in a small museum. He discovered a series of miniature paintings illustrating the ancient Panchatantra fables from the Mogul era. In explaining the background to his on-going Creatures of the Gods series, he says “In Hindu, Jain and Buddhist philosophies, every living thing is a soul incarnated in a material body. I was inspired by the exquisite manner these artists showed the presence and the dignity of the animals…”

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Vrindavan, 2007

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Calcutta, 2007

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Pondichery, 2007

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Mahabalipuram, 2013

Ramser has an exceptional photographic eye. He rarely takes more than 13 pictures in a day; he does not need to. He is not uncomfortable with digital photography but, for him, the infinite number of photos that this technology permits and the ability to review them immediately are a distraction. Time that would be best spent observing the subject is lost by checking the little screen on the back of the camera. In his own experience, if you take many photos of a subject, the first is often the best anyway. He says the most fulfilling moments of his photographic career are those precious seconds when, on releasing the shutter, he knows he has captured a really great image.

I ask what advice he would offer to any young, aspiring photographer. Without hesitation, he replies “Stay with your own style. It is better to take a bad photograph in your own style than a good photograph in someone else’s style.” And with this pearl of wisdom delivered, he sits back and sips his tea, calmly.

“Gluttony” by Cathal O’Searcaigh

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It is the heat-wave of 2013: idyllic, deepest Switzerland. After the formalities, the chilled champagne is dangerously refreshing. The Irish poet, Cathal O’Searcaigh, gets to his feet to read some of his own work that, unusually, has been translated into English. A polite silence settles over the other wedding guests. They sense something unusual is coming.

Gluttony

Gluttony (Craos) by Cathal O’Searcaigh (Translated by Denise Blake & Cathal O’Searcaigh)

I would drink the milk that spills
from the bright jugs of your laughter.
I would eat the speckled trout that swims
in the full pools of your pupils.

From the silken flour of your skin
I would bake a white batch loaf.
From the ripened fruit of your haunch
I would create a summer sweet.

I would feast in your bones, my love.
I would sate my hunger on the honeycomb
of your thighs; your chest’s sugared flesh,
your throat’s luscious apple.

Beware! The delicacies of your body
make me so ravenous.
Each bite of calf, each slice of sinew,
each mouthful of cheek, every tasty nibble

of loin, of shoulder, of plump limb.
I’d swallow you whole, I’d eat you alive.
I’d make you my dawn banquet, my dusk feast.
You’re the sweetmeat of my hunger. I drool for you.

The happy couple applauds with enthusiasm. Singles laugh but shift a little nervously in their seats. Do I see tears in the eyes of some older couples? Like a firework, this perfect and dazzling wedding moment fades abruptly. A perplexed Swiss friend asks me what “drool” means.