As with all things Ofili, this shimmering Eden is as mystifying as it is hypnotic.
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On a tabletop is a round water jug, an ochre highlight on its belly. A plain cloth has been thrown over the table, white on wood.
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The first thing you see upon entering ‘Body Vessel Clay: Black Women, Ceramics & Contemporary Art’, a striking new exhibition at Two Temple Place, is Ladi Kwali and Kiln, a black-and-white photograph taken in the early 1960s.
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Despite insisting that her magnified flower paintings (c.1924–50s) were not expressions of female sexuality, Georgia O’Keeffe endured Freudian readings of her work by male critics throughout her career.
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Halfway through the first-ever exhibition devoted to Lucian Freud’s self-portraits is a tiny canvas of the artist with a black eye. After getting into a scrape with a London cab driver, Freud hurried to his studio to document the effects of the blow.
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Think ‘Pre-Raphaelite’ and you picture luminous paintings of waify maidens with copper-coloured hair, loose clothing and a far-off look in their eyes. Prostitutes, mistresses, sorceresses and other ‘fallen women’ in need of masculine intervention.
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At London’s National Gallery, the first exhibition devoted to Gauguin’s portraits begins with a bang: a room of self-portraits and the announcement that ‘Gauguin was undoubtedly self-obsessed.’
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Tim Walker’s whimsical photographs are instantly recognizable. Think of the giant plastic doll with golden ringlets and rosy cheeks about to step on the supermodel Lindsey Wixson in a 2012 shoot for Vogue Italia.
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Cross the threshold into the exhibition of works by Madge Gill and you’ll find yourself in a silken web. All four walls of the small space are filled with the self-taught spiritualist artist’s feverishly detailed drawings, embroideries and textiles.
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