thu 18/04/2024

Ben Johnson: Modern Perspectives, National Gallery | reviews, news & interviews

Ben Johnson: Modern Perspectives, National Gallery

Ben Johnson: Modern Perspectives, National Gallery

Contemporary artist gives two cities the Canaletto treatment

Oh dearie, dearie me. Modern Perspectives sounded like it had such promise. Running alongside the big Canaletto show in the Sainsbury wing of the National Gallery, two finished works and one work in progress by Ben Johnson are on show in Room One. The idea is to look at a contemporary artist who, like Canaletto and his coevals, produces panoramic views of cities. Johnson, despite his quasi-illustrative, photo-realist style, says he produces not "topographical representations of a real place, but perhaps a manifestation of a dream... timeless and transcendent". Wouldn’t it be pretty to think so?

What the unprepared visitor is in fact faced with is a sort of Disney-does-the-city; a flat, illustrative reproduction style that sucks all the life out of a cityscape while gussying it up, making it cosy and twee. One expects the bluebirds from Snow White to swoop across the top.

There are two finished works on display, one of a Zurich cityscape (pictured below), one of Liverpool. In the captions to both Johnson is quoted, saying how long it had taken him and his assistants to create each image, as though labour equated to merit, time to artistry. The picture of Liverpool, he tells us, done with the help of 11 assistants, would have taken a single person 18 years to complete. And? If someone made a model of Liverpool out of matchsticks the time span might be similar: does that make a matchstick model art? Or even interesting? Disney Corporation could probably give similar statistics for its matte artists. But they would still be making cartoons.

Zurich

The "twist" in this exhibition is that Johnson himself and some of his assistants are always in the room, creating a new image. Entitled Looking Back to Richmond House (main picture, above), it is linked compositionally to Canaletto’s Stonemason’s Yard on display downstairs, but here the view has been taken from the roof of the National Gallery itself. Thus visitors can contemplate an image being made of the building they are standing in. How delightfully Post-Modern! And as they watch the creation of this work in progress, captions explain the process. From “the artist’s photographs” architectural drawings are produced, and “each building is hand-drawn on the computer” (I will leave the comment on “hand-drawing” by computer to readers), colour separations are created and stencils made. The colours are then mixed “by hand”, with the artist “looking back at his photographs for reference”.

This enormous stress laid on the artist’s own agency suggests to me that either he or the curators of this show realised how far from artistry this process might seem to the naïve – or cynical. The captions emphasise that the finished work is “the product of a studio, but the initial concept and composition is always the artist’s own”. Well, heavens to Betsy, what a quaint and charming notion! Even in conceptual art, no one doubts that the "initial concept and composition" are the artists' own - that's what makes them artists.

I am quoting endlessly because there is really nothing else to do having looked at the finished (or in progress) works: they remain resolutely uninteresting, and what I saw at first glance is what I found I was still seeing after 10 minutes’ hard looking. I can’t imagine an hour would bring more, and truth to tell I couldn’t make myself spend more than 10 minutes on each. Johnson claims that his work is about engagement with society and the environment, but even knowing that beforehand, I couldn’t find any trace of either element in the pictures themselves. They are rather sweet little children’s-book illustrations, certainly; something you could show to your Great-Aunt Matilda and still be entirely sure of that legacy. But for that you don't have to visit a museum.

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Having observed both the Walker Art Gallery and the National Gallery residency I detected an audience who were deeply engaged with Ben’s paintings. The Liverpool cityscape attracted more than 50,000 viewers during the six weeks Ben was present and provided a vessel for the spectators to vent their civic pride. This created a feeling of involvement and inclusion attracting many people who would not necessarily set foot in a museum or art gallery under normal circumstances. Ben Johnson’s cityscapes celebrate and venerate a city by creating perfect, precisely ¬¬¬¬¬¬crafted buildings conforming to strict laws of perspective and geometry elevating them to a very absolute status. Walt Disney on the overhand puts clothes on animals gives them a voice and turns them into something comical for the purpose of entertainment. I fail to see a comparison. From a personal perspective observing the three cityscape paintings in Modern Perspectives is one that is transcendental and contemplative. They show cities that have been stripped of the detritus and banality of everyday life revealing an idealised place according to the artist’s own vision.

Well, "hand-drawing on a computer" is just like drawing on a piece of paper, virtual paper. It's still the hand that draws the line and the eye and mind that direct it, and that's clear from the work being done in the exhibition. The computer is the means by which the drawing is made, see countless other artists using computers as sketch books. Disney? No, Disney is entirely different, it is not rooted directly in observation, which all of Johnson's work is, and cartooned, which Johnson's work isn't, as far as I am concerned. Yes it is topographical but it also creates a world of the imagination to consider where the city in question came from, and where it might go to, from the frozen but long term worked images in the paintings. They can be seen to relate to 19thC city street photography when the exposures were so long, partly to obtain a reasonable depth-of-field, that no people registered at all. The contrast with Canaletto (who did include very simply and sometimes not very well painted figures) is fascinating in terms of the representation of surface, and in two of the pieces in the show, water. Look at Johnson's water and then go into the galleries and look at Canaletto's, much in common there, and fasinating differences. For another comparison see Crivelli's work where architectural forms and surfaces get the same address as Johnson gives them, and similarly remain suspended in a sense of being continually available to be re-seen with each new viewing, or within the same viewing. I'm sorry you were so briefly detained, Judith, by work which has clearly captured the interest of many different people, the gallery has been well filled every time I have been. The comment about matchsticks places Johnson's work with of the amateur craftsperson and the outsider. To me that is insulting to Johnson and completely irrelevant. Nothing I have seen made in matchsticks is art and these works are nothing like things made in matchsticks, they are art. Finally the size of the work: it is possible to see most of Canaletto's paintings in one close gaze, and to examine them in detail. Johnson's work, when you move into th detail, encloses and absorbs the viewer, well it does this one. If you haven't seen it, go before the 23 Jan, go with an open mind, be prepared to look and think...and congratulations to the National Gallery for this, Clive Head that preceded it, and Bridget Riley's current show.

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