Street life - A Freudian trip
There are many things I could tell you about. Indeed I would love to tell you about the delicate taste of pigeon breast at the Michelin star restaurant Alberto K, which offers a 360° view of the rooftops of Copenhagen all the way across the Sound to...
There are many things I could tell you about. Indeed I would love to tell you about the delicate taste of pigeon breast at the Michelin star restaurant Alberto K, which offers a 360° view of the rooftops of Copenhagen all the way across the Sound to the lights of Sweden... after that I could bore you for hours with details from our night out on the town last weekend, when the doors of Copenhagen remained open for Kultur Natten. I could tell you about the debate Kit, Pawl and I had on whether one should pay a small fee of 75 dkk (approximately Lm4) to the council or not. In case you're wondering I think a nominal fee is a good idea, but Kit, who once worked for an arts council, had some hard facts and arguments about why culture nights should be free of charge, and I would have to say that she definitely won the argument (a reference to the VAT office is always a sure way of winning!).
But I do not wish to waffle, for I started the week with a visit to Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, 35 kilometres north of Copenhagen, and it is there that I wish to take you... It was a Monday morning, and so I thought I would have the men to myself; not just any men, but two contemporary masters and great lovers of women. The great divide between these two men and their women would appear to be a superficial one - as a woman I am often concerned with the matter of female beauty and the woman's relationship with the artist portraying her. US photographer Richard Avedon's images of beautiful women: Audrey Hepburn, Veruschka, Suzy Parker, are iconic - impossible beauty and sublime lighting seem to conspire into an image that is painfully glamorous. And indeed upon the mention of pain, poise and pose, the eye swings to the works of Lucian Freud, further along in the museum, and his sitters, many of whom talk about the long hours in often uncomfortable positions while sitting for the famously slow painter.
Freud seems to have no iconic ambitions, his paintings are stripped bare, uglified perhaps, or simply painted as he sees them, "I paint what I see, not what you hope I can see" is the quote used by the museum to introduce his work. And indeed, Freud is not for everyone, he does not paint to please, yet Britain applauds him, and though he prefers to paint the women in his life (lovers, daughters, granddaughters) the Queen and Kate Moss have been painted by the man the press states is arguably one of the most important contemporary figurative painters.
I must say this: I like Freud's paintings much more now that I have stood in front of them, occupying a space once inhabited by the lithe painter himself. The effect of standing before a Freud is quite devastating, the eye is not pleased but the soul leaps somersaults, the emperor is naked at last, a finger has been pointed, and we are all relieved; humanity is exposed in unforgiving ripples of transparent flesh, in faces that make no apologies for their blemishes and imperfections.
Two men, at seemingly opposite ends of the visual spectrum brought together under one roof. I do not think any curator had this in mind when they scheduled the two exhibitions, but to see one juxtaposed against another has a devastating effect on the aesthete. Of course one may argue that Avedons's portraits are startling too, certainly Isak Dinesen and Dorothy Parker are women beyond their prime, and there are images of poverty-stricken streets in Palermo, and looming, bedraggled drifters in the dark heart of America, but these too have a heightened sense of drama, as though Avedon were incapable of producing anything but beautiful imagery - why even boring old Hilary Clinton in a cardigan doesn't look half bad (though if I were the curator I would remove this image). Within every frame, we are reminded that Avedon rose to fame with his fashion photography, and this is the section of his work that is most remarkable and unique.
Conventional beauty, on the other hand, is not on the tip of Freud's oily brush, and yet, when I stand in front of the detailed study of Lucian's garden in Notting Hill Gate, London, there is beauty and gracious harmony - I guess that is actually what he saw, not what I hoped he would see, and in his study of nature, there is nothing 'Sigmund' going on, there is nothing to interpret (though Freud insists he is not introspective, his human portraits would suggest otherwise), it is a beautiful painting positioned on the ground, close to the earth, where children may play hide and seek, where a cup of tea may be enjoyed, where that inward eye may flash upon the bliss of solitude.
And though I was far from alone, I do not remember much about the day, leaving the museum with eyes half closed, as though afraid to catch sight of the mundane, so discordant with the spectrum of beauty on display at Louisiana Museum, beauty enhanced or dressed down, but always hyper real, as we wish it to be.
But I do not wish to waffle, for I started the week with a visit to Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, 35 kilometres north of Copenhagen, and it is there that I wish to take you... It was a Monday morning, and so I thought I would have the men to myself; not just any men, but two contemporary masters and great lovers of women. The great divide between these two men and their women would appear to be a superficial one - as a woman I am often concerned with the matter of female beauty and the woman's relationship with the artist portraying her. US photographer Richard Avedon's images of beautiful women: Audrey Hepburn, Veruschka, Suzy Parker, are iconic - impossible beauty and sublime lighting seem to conspire into an image that is painfully glamorous. And indeed upon the mention of pain, poise and pose, the eye swings to the works of Lucian Freud, further along in the museum, and his sitters, many of whom talk about the long hours in often uncomfortable positions while sitting for the famously slow painter.
Freud seems to have no iconic ambitions, his paintings are stripped bare, uglified perhaps, or simply painted as he sees them, "I paint what I see, not what you hope I can see" is the quote used by the museum to introduce his work. And indeed, Freud is not for everyone, he does not paint to please, yet Britain applauds him, and though he prefers to paint the women in his life (lovers, daughters, granddaughters) the Queen and Kate Moss have been painted by the man the press states is arguably one of the most important contemporary figurative painters.
I must say this: I like Freud's paintings much more now that I have stood in front of them, occupying a space once inhabited by the lithe painter himself. The effect of standing before a Freud is quite devastating, the eye is not pleased but the soul leaps somersaults, the emperor is naked at last, a finger has been pointed, and we are all relieved; humanity is exposed in unforgiving ripples of transparent flesh, in faces that make no apologies for their blemishes and imperfections.
Two men, at seemingly opposite ends of the visual spectrum brought together under one roof. I do not think any curator had this in mind when they scheduled the two exhibitions, but to see one juxtaposed against another has a devastating effect on the aesthete. Of course one may argue that Avedons's portraits are startling too, certainly Isak Dinesen and Dorothy Parker are women beyond their prime, and there are images of poverty-stricken streets in Palermo, and looming, bedraggled drifters in the dark heart of America, but these too have a heightened sense of drama, as though Avedon were incapable of producing anything but beautiful imagery - why even boring old Hilary Clinton in a cardigan doesn't look half bad (though if I were the curator I would remove this image). Within every frame, we are reminded that Avedon rose to fame with his fashion photography, and this is the section of his work that is most remarkable and unique.
Conventional beauty, on the other hand, is not on the tip of Freud's oily brush, and yet, when I stand in front of the detailed study of Lucian's garden in Notting Hill Gate, London, there is beauty and gracious harmony - I guess that is actually what he saw, not what I hoped he would see, and in his study of nature, there is nothing 'Sigmund' going on, there is nothing to interpret (though Freud insists he is not introspective, his human portraits would suggest otherwise), it is a beautiful painting positioned on the ground, close to the earth, where children may play hide and seek, where a cup of tea may be enjoyed, where that inward eye may flash upon the bliss of solitude.
And though I was far from alone, I do not remember much about the day, leaving the museum with eyes half closed, as though afraid to catch sight of the mundane, so discordant with the spectrum of beauty on display at Louisiana Museum, beauty enhanced or dressed down, but always hyper real, as we wish it to be.