On a visit
to the Manchester Art Gallery this week I came across a small temporary
exhibition called The Absence of Presence.
It’s based on the tortuous premise that the works displayed have one thing in
common – the requirement on the part of the viewer for a “heightened level of
looking” in order to discover in them traces of that which is absent. The idea
is inspired by a Callum Innes canvas Exposed
Painting: Green Lake in which the artist has deliberately scraped off the top
layer of paint, leaving only a trace of what he had previously laid. I left
more puzzled than enlightened.
In another
space there is a more straightforward exhibition, House Proud, which is
easier to understand in that it examines the influence various artists have had
on the design and decoration of some house-wares which are in the Gallery’s
collections. Some of the artists had been commissioned by manufacturers to work
within constraint of reasonable production costs, while others had a free hand.
The exhibits therefore comprise a nice mix of the practical and the
impractical, the affordable and the collectible, the mass-produced and the
hand-crafted. Inevitably I coveted some of the items - although I need none of
them. But I was reminded that I do
need a new teapot. (The one I use is chipped and the basket inside it which
holds the tea-leaves is no longer as porous as it was, having become coated
with a thick layer of tannin). I later went in search of one but, despite its renown
as a regional retail hub, this city has little to offer in the way of teapots
for the discerning. I eventually settled for one that met at least some of my
requirements, although it was obvious that no artist had been involved in the
design process.
It wasn’t
the only disappointment of the week. I went to see Spielberg’s latest film Bridge of Spies, a story of prisoner-exchange
between the USA and the USSR in 1964. Slick and entertaining though it is, the
ending - a superfluous addendum of unadulterated schmaltz - lets it down.
Nevertheless the story reminds me essentially of just how tense relations were
during the cold war and, with the passage of time, how relatively relaxed they
have become. On Tuesday the news was all about three astronauts – a Russian, an
American and a Brit – being transported from Kazakhstan to the International
Space Station in a 1960’s era Soviet rocket. Who would have thought it possible?
Even someone with Spielberg’s imagination could not have foreseen such
co-operation.
The next
morning at breakfast I used the ugly new teapot for the first time. The occasion
was tinged with anxiety because, it being slightly bigger than the old one, I
had to gauge the correct proportions of tea and water. As it turned out my
angst was in vain: it is impossible to get right as the basket is actually too
small for the volume of the pot. It’s just as well, I thought, that I haven’t
yet discarded the old teapot. This new one is definitely earmarked for the
charity shop.
So, over a
disappointingly weak cup of tea, I sought to console myself with the previous
day’s unfinished “quick crossword”, starting with the correction of several
brave but misguided entries made by my dyslexic partner. I got stuck for a
while on one of those tricky clues that requires a phrase: That’s all there is to it (4,4,5). As I pondered, it occurred to me
that perhaps this is what that curator was getting at: the absence of presence
is precisely the relationship between the empty spaces and the clues. There, I
thought, I have it: Bob’s your uncle!
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