I wonder...

Today has been a day of epiphanies and revelations, as well as failures to change light bulbs, get up at a reasonable time and to get to bed before midnight. I have had thoughts about the cosy catastrophe, which I will pass on in due course, but I have also partly solved a mystery of what my gallery-going is building up to. My wider sense of (especially British) surrealist and modernist art 1900-1940ish remains puzzling - although I can trace the trajectory - but the Dulwich Picture Gallery exhibition of Paul Nash clearly needs to be thrown at Keith Roberts (and Eric Ravilious is presumably not far behind*), with the paradoxical sense that modern and romantic ought to seem more antithetical.


( * Not far behind? )

I don't have time or words for this in the current project - whose Post-Imperial Melancholy chapter needs sections on Compton and Kilworth to complete - but one more for the to-do list...


(in any case I need to think of the linkage between Nash and Nicholson's odd welding of landscape-still-life-abstract, and then the connection to Mondrian which will be explored by a Courtauld Institute exhibition next year.)