Andrew Lambirth on how a powerful Easter message can be found in images of the Crucifixion
Easter is not just a time for bonnets and bunnies, but also for reexamining the fundamentals of life and faith. In the self-denial of Lent, whether we’ve given up chocolate or alcohol, or something even more difficult, we are offered the opportunity of facing and considering temptation, without the usual pretence that it’s not happening to us. Taking the easy way out is perhaps our most constant temptation, particularly rife in a society which dislikes rules and moral restraints, but Lent gives us the chance to confront that insidious habit. Also the chance to check — if only fleetingly — the wilder excesses of self-indulgence. And the purpose of all this self-denial? A taking stock, a pause, in which we are bidden to reflect upon the central tenet of a society that still holds (at least nominally) to Christianity: that Christ died to save us all.
Timely, then, to find an exhibition devoted to the theme of the Crucifixion, in the purpose-built art gallery attached to a school in Kent. Mascalls Gallery, at Paddock Wood near Tonbridge, has been building up a local reputation with a range of impressive shows (contemporary gypsy art, Andy Goldsworthy, Henry Moore, Graham Sutherland), but with Cross Purposes: Shock and Contemplation in Images of The Crucifixion (until 29 May) it deserves to reach a wider audience. The curator, Nathaniel Hepburn, has put together an intelligent and stimulating collection of paintings, drawings and prints (with one sculpture and one photograph), which provides much food for thought.
The show begins with a group of mixed-media drawings by Chagall for the stained glass in the windows of a local church, commissioned in memory of Sarah d’Avigdor-Goldsmid, who drowned at the age of 21. It’s fascinating to observe the development of Chagall’s ideas as he resolves the interplay of decoration and meaning. There are prints by Sybil Andrews and Tracey Emin on an opposite wall, and a tough and arresting war photograph by Lee Miller. Entitled ‘Hotline to God’ (1944), it portrays a broken-topped stone crucifix co-opted as a telegraph pole and festooned with phone cables. A large Duncan Grant drawing for his Crucifixion mural in the village church of St Michael and All Angels at Berwick in the Sussex Downs hangs adjacent. A horrible piece of drawing, it depicts Grant’s unfortunate friend Edward Le Bas who had to be made drunk and tied to an easel before he would pose as Christ. Much better is the coloured pencil drawing next to it by Betty Swanwick, which proposes a crucified modern figure in a lost wilderness littered with empty cans and bottles. In the background, crashed-out vagrants snore in bestial abandon. But regeneration, if not redemption, is possible. The crucified figure is crowned with mistletoe rather than thorns and little foxes wake to new life at her feet.
A remarkable interpretation of the Crucifixion by the underrated Gilbert Spencer, Stanley’s younger brother, hangs opposite. A bearded patriarchal figure, more like God the Father than God the Son, is apparently being raised on the Cross by five stalwart workers. But look closer: these large men are not straining to lift but hanging on to the crossbar, as if desperately trying to prevent Christ from flying off. The spirit of the Lord is already in the ascendant, but man selfishly wants to keep hold of Him for earthly consolation. Compare the drawings next to it, done by Gilbert’s brother for a Crucifixion at the end of his life. Stanley’s goblinish workers (in red brewers’ caps) are gleefully nailing up Christ in an altogether different spirit. It’s difficult not to see the emotional complexion of this image as reflecting Stanley’s own disillusion with the world after a lifetime of mostly unrestrained optimism.
Other paintings include a hollow and fractured Christ by Robert Henderson Blyth, a war-shattered image which seems to draw directly upon John Armstrong’s armature-mannequins of the 1930s, and an intensely moving classical Crucifixion by Armstrong himself. Chagall is represented again by an extraordinary Crucifixion, ‘Apocalypse in Lilac’ (1945), recently discovered and purchased by the Ben Uri Art Gallery, in which a disturbingly womanly Christ bears witness to the horrors of the concentration camps. There are also fine things by Sutherland, Gill, David Jones, Craigie Aitchison, Norman Adams and Maggi Hambling, whose tiny Christ figure supports the weight of the world upon His bowed shoulders.
If you have time, a visit to All Saints’ Church at nearby Tudeley is a must. Here are the windows made from Chagall’s designs mentioned above, in the only church with a complete set of Chagall windows. Also close at hand is a display of large watercolours by Norman Adams called ‘Spirit in the Garden’, at Marle Place, Brenchley (until 29 May). But the other major show of Easter images is in The Kentish Barn at Canterbury Cathedral (until 6 April). Here are seven paintings by Craigie Aitchison and seven by Maggi Hambling. Aitchison’s Crucifixions are indeed extraordinary: tender or dramatic statements of human suffering, they offer a focus for contemplation that is both generous and deeply spiritual. His last painting is unbearably poignant. ‘Dog by Grave’ seems to presage his own death, which occurred at the end of last year. In it he depicts one of his beloved Bedlingtons mourning by a gravestone. Craigie was a great original, in life as in art, and a friend whose loss is impossible to ignore. Spare a thought for him in your Easter meditations.
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