At Tate Britain, Edward Burra and Ithell Colquhoun Are a Two-for-One Deal
It seems odd that London’s Tate Britain gallery is running these two shows in parallel, rather than merging them into a single exhibition. Here is a pair of British painters, both remarkable in their own way—Ithell Colquhoun, the occult queen of early 20th-century British Surrealism, and Edward Burra, the wry spectator of sexual and racial mores—working at the same time. Two separate exhibitions, in separate rooms in the same building. Why not hang their work side by side, add one of those fancy Xs people use these days (“Burra x Colquhoun” has a nice ring to it) and stand back to admire the results? Across town, the Barbican Centre gallery is showing sculptures by the late Alberto Giacometti cheek by jowl with 3D artwork from the very-much-alive Huma Bhabha. Then, in September, the space will show Giacometti’s forms alongside work by Mona Hatoum. And in February next year, the Barbican team will match Alberto’s stretchy figures with Lynda Benglis’ organic sculpted pieces. Cool, right? Meanwhile, back at Tate Britain, one ticket will get you access to both “Edward Burra” and “Ithell Colquhoun,” two exhibitions side-by-side but not quite touching.
Burra is a relatively unknown artist who certainly deserves an exhibition at a place as worthy as Tate Britain. Colquhoun is better known, has a cult following and—actually—the work on show here arrives after the same exhibition spent four months in the Tate’s Cornish outpost, Tate St Ives. Burra came from a boring English village and used his artwork to escape into exciting and seductive worlds. Colquhoun was born in India, sat at the feet of Surrealist kingpin André Breton and used automatism (allowing the unconscious mind to dictate artwork) to create her paintings.
Ithell Colquhoun first, then. Scylla (Méditerranée) from 1938 is here, of course. Colquhoun’s best-known painting showcases her interest in how the human body relates to the natural environment. The Scylla of Greek mythology was a sailor-eating female sea monster, so is this a painting of a woman lying in a rock pool? Is it two rocks in the sea? Is it supposed to look this phallic? Colquhoun, like Dalí, was good at this sort of thing: render a few juicy, fleshy forms in a desert-scape or in front of a discernible horizon and leave the viewer to make up their own mind. Gorgon, painted in 1946, and Earth Process from 1940 work the same angles. Her Attributes of the Moon from 1947 goes further, as clouds and hills join together to create a giant, striding humanoid figure.
There is also space for the Tarot card designs Colquhoun made in the 1970s. Her fascination with the occult had manifested in varying ways throughout her life, from joining the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn (a secret society that studied alchemy and thought God was a magician) to incorporating occult color theory (where every color has its own meaning) in her artwork. Colquhoun had moved into the realms of complete abstraction towards the end of her career, and she made her designs by dripping enamel paint on surfaces, then shaking and shuffling the wet paint around to create looming shapes and accidental color combos. While the process might seem elementary, the results are un-self-conscious in the tradition of automatism. Colquhoun’s design for the Lord of the Hosts of the Mighty Tarot card, for example, achieves the same organic quality she strived for in her more controlled paintings. Overall, Colquhoun’s output comes across as exquisitely eccentric, the work of an artist determined to fire their artwork beyond ordinary perception and onto metaphysical planes.
Far from otherworldly, Burra’s work was based on gossipy—sometimes gritty—reality. As Otto Dix used 1930s German society as the starting point for his busy, bitchy paintings, so Burra used his travels in the U.S. and Europe to provide subject matter for his. However, there was an extra layer to Burra’s themes. Look closely at the figures in Balcony, Toulon and Three Sailors at a Bar. Burra’s ladies on the balcony—unshaven of chin and broad in the shoulders—are men in drag. The sailors in the bar are eying one another lasciviously. While Burra never openly discussed his sexuality, his international travels took him to gay-friendly nightclubs, bars and hangouts, and these paintings are a joyous celebration of his findings.
By contrast, Burra was mooching about in Spain in 1936 when the Spanish Civil War broke out. He loved Spain and, when he returned to England, he used his work to communicate his sorrow at the escalating conflict. The Watcher from 1938 shows sinister, anonymous figures facing off among crumbling castillo walls. The outbreak of the Second World War followed, and Burra reacted with a phenomenal work of art. His Soldiers at Rye painting from 1941 is combat in widescreen mode, as the painter’s masked warriors range and roam cinematically across the scene. Burra also hung out in Harlem and Boston before the Spanish Civil War broke out, soaking up the vibes of the burgeoning jazz age. Made in 1934, his The Band painting shows a big band in full swing, with accompanying jazz singers shimmying across the stage. This was the time of the Harlem Renaissance, when Black artists defied ingrained institutional and societal racism to take control of Harlem’s cultural narrative. Burra was on hand to record the defiance.
Times are hard right now, what with the global economy taking a continual battering. So perhaps the curators at Tate Britain are plugging into retail thinking here. If grocery stores can tempt their punters with buy one, get one free offers, then why shouldn’t institutions like Tate Britain do the same? While hanging the artists’ work directly beside one another might have been a more enticing prospect, with two gripping exhibitions for the price of one, what’s not to like?
“Edward Burra” and “Ithell Colquhoun” are at Tate Britain in London through October 19. Booking ahead is advised.
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