A Small Retrospective

I love the Annely Juda Gallery very much. I’ve been visiting as long as I’ve lived in London and it always feels like I’m coming home. I first knew it as a small warehouse space in Tottenham Mews, next-door to the Angela Flowers Gallery. It was all scrubbed floorboards and whitewashed walls hung with jewel-like fragments of Bauhaus, De Stijl and Russian Constructivist art. Most exhibitions seemed to be called The Non-Objective World and they were always a great education in abstraction. In 1990 she moved to Dering Street where I first discovered the work of Eduardo Chillida, and saw an exhibition of minimal white reliefs by Alan Reynolds. It was a revelation. Continue reading “A Small Retrospective”

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Brought To Light

Roger Ackling lived on the north Norfolk coast where he collected driftwood. His house was close to the cliff’s edge, which was constantly eroded by the North Sea. Maybe his house is now under the sea. He recorded his time there by making his mark on the driftwood he found on the beach. Using the lens of a magnifying glass he burned sunspots to leave his shadow on the wood. Continue reading “Brought To Light”

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Roger Ackling: Between The Lines

Roger Ackling made artworks like small miracles. He turned driftwood into diamonds. He died last year, his obituary is here. I never met him but I knew people who were taught by him and exhibited with him. I saw many of his exhibitions and loved his work. I think I even once walked by his house on the crumbling north Norfolk coast at Weybourne. There are presently exhibitions of his work at Annely Juda and Kestle Barton, and Occasional Papers are hoping to publish a crowdfunded book about him, Roger Ackling: Between the Lines. I’m looking forward to reading it. Continue reading “Roger Ackling: Between The Lines”

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Signs Of Chillida

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Last time we visited Lottie in Toledo she showed us this sculpture by Eduardo Chillida, hidden away beneath the city walls and previously overlooked. It’s called Lugar de Encuentros V (Meeting Place V); it’s like an open hand, positioned low to the ground, immediately inviting, waiting to hold you. I instinctively wanted to climb inside but I had to wait my turn, others were already in it’s embrace. Continue reading “Signs Of Chillida”

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