Evolution of the cock's comb: Arshile Gorky at Tate Modern

Arshile Gorky: A Retrospective

Tate Modern, London

Until 3 May 2010

Being originally from Buffalo, I have, amongst my mental wallpaper from the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, an image of Arshile Gorky's painting The Liver Is the Cock's Comb. So I was really looking forward to catching his retrospective at Tate Modern.

Unfortunately this is a report based on an extremely brief visit, due to spending longer than expected celebrating the Aberration opening (no regrets, mind) - I intend to return to Gorky, as the exhibition runs for another month. So here follows random thoughts:

Having only a very few minutes at the end of the late Saturday night opening, I had the advantage of having the paintings to myself, but the disadvantage of being shooed along by weary attendants waiting to go home.

Study for The Liver Is the Cock's Comb 1943, graphite and crayon on paper

Superficially it would seem Gorky was working on the same painting, over and over, for the last years of his life. It was interesting to see so many subtle reworkings.

In a way the showstopping room is the one with the family portraits, Room 7. Showing similarities with Matisse and Picasso, these portraits have a simplicity and gentleness, with their peachy-grey palettes. I was especially struck by the self portrait with imaginary wife.

I have just booked a bus ticket for Wednesday, to have another go (after attempting to get in Van Gogh at the Royal Academy one more time, first thing).

19 November 2010

Never did finish my thoughts on this show, and though it's long closed, I just wanted to add that a standout revelation for me was Gorky's treatment of hands.

On my return visit I had to look again to be sure I hadn't misremembered, but there they were, or weren't, rather. In one version of the portrait of the young artist standing by his seated mother, the hands, at his sides and on her lap, are palms down and fingers curled under, but only faintly visible under a sfumato haze of white. And one of the pencil drawings showed a hand, if I recall correctly, with the fingers awkwardly piled under one and other in a manner typical of student drawings.

Could it be that Gorky had trouble drawing hands with a sense of proportion, weight and perspective? Was he 'no good at hands'?

If so (and the evidence of my own eyes seemed to confirm this), then on the one hand it is a relief, as a practicisng artist, to see what might be regarded as a flaw in the work of a highly regarded painter. Because the 'flaw', though glaring in the drawing, is turned to good use in the painting, in that the insubstantial clouds of white paint covering the hands suggests further meaning, perhaps impotence or powerlessness of the figures, a cutting off, a shrouding. Or even a partial entry into another time, as the paintings were made many years after the photograph was taken. Perhaps Gorky's mother had died by that time; certainly he had moved away from his native Armenia, so they were unable to touch each other through distance as well as time.

Turning a flaw to advantage... certainly a tremendous thing for an artist, for everyone. (With thanks to Dexter Dalwood for that thought.)

Arshile Gorky at the Tate Modern website

Getting to Tate Modern:

Southwark tube is the closest, but I prefer Waterloo (walk over the pedestrian bridge alongside the rail bridge, turn left and walk along the Thames, following the signs for the annoying diversion away from the river just at the end - 15 minutes or so) or - even better - St Paul's tube station (walk around the cathedral and follow the signs down to the Millenium Bridge - 10 minutes)

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