Basil Harker: Human Cicada? – by D H Laven

18 03 2012

[The following edited excerpt is taken from the one-hundred-and-twenty-ninth chapter of D H Laven’s historic work-in-progress ‘The Story of Forgotten Art’. In the introduction to this pioneering work he writes: ‘There is no such thing as forgotten art. There are only forgotten artists. And a hell of a lot of them too’. In this passage he looks at the relationship between the German-American sculptor Basil Harker and the life cycle of a North American cicada.]

There are only four known sculptures by the German-American sculptor Basil Harker. I say ‘known’; in fact, Harker’s oeuvre is not widely recognised at all, owing to the fact it is so small. There are two further impediments; a couple more trees blocking the highway of public interest; a final pair of flies swimming in the habitual ointment. Firstly, Harker’s four pieces are strikingly similar. Secondly, they were created seventeen years apart.

By now it should be clear that Mr Harker was never what you would call a ‘prolific producer’. To call him a professional sculptor might seem, to some, to be stretching the rules. One man cannot live on four sculptures alone, can he? It seems he can. True: his father’s copious fortune (made in the guano shipping business) helped keep several wolves from the door – although by all accounts Harker’s existence remained a frugal one. He did not have expensive tastes. He lived to sculpt, that is all.

So why so few sculptures? And why did it take seventeen years to make each one? Read the rest of this entry »





Laetitia Blauman – by D H Laven

10 03 2012

(edited from a lecture given in Hamburg, December 2007)

I arrive early and pause before the dirty turquoise door, wondering whether or not to wait until the appointed time rolls by. Eventually I reach for the bell, a whole four minutes prematurely, only to find the door anticipate my movements. Opening magically before me, I am sucked into a dingy narrow corridor, like stubborn fluff up a Hoover nozzle. Two thin hands reach out of the gloom to receive my jacket, dropping it on the floor only three times before tossing it in evident frustration over a nearby stair-rail. Controlling the whole operation – in that part over-efficient, part ham-fisted manner to which I am to become accustomed – is a small, wizened old woman with a face that seems keen to sidestep emotion. It is neither unwelcoming, nor reacts to my presence with pleasure. This is typical Blauman: neither fragile nor fierce – but the right side of blank. To say enigmatic would suggest a personality that draws people in. But if Blauman does this, she does it only rarely. Her magnetism is sporadic, subtle: even selective. It takes a dedicated fan to stay patient with her.

Two thin hands beckon me forward Read the rest of this entry »





The Death Sheds of Colney Rise (Part Two) – by D H Laven

10 03 2012

Part Two

Let’s cross the street and go back to No. 15: former residence of Mr and Mrs Reginald Cozens. A plain house from the outside – and even plainer inside. As for the garden – it too is plain. But it wasn’t always this way. Its present plainness must be blamed on the last two or three owners of this curious dwelling; owners who have made it their business to sterilise any sense of mystery the property once had; to sell off all but one of the intriguing artefacts with which the garden was once decorated. What remains? Nothing of any great interest. Only the shape of the lawn – in a perverted version of its former glory – and a solitary border stone, faintly carved with the famous ‘Cozenoglyphics’. That this has not been wrenched from its habitat is not testament to the current owners’ interest in Cozens. If it testament to anything, it is to their ignorance. In fact, they had not noticed the carvings until I pointed them out, upon which they feigned disinterest – though I am now told that they are considering selling this final stone to Mr Lovitz, whose part in this story I will shortly reveal. I take that back. I will in fact reveal, expand and explain the role of Mr Lovitz right now.

Mr Reginald Cozens died in 1971. He choked on a cherry stone, tripped up and then died of natural causes. Read the rest of this entry »





The Death Sheds of Colney Rise (Part One) by D H Laven

10 03 2012

Part One

From whence does art spring? The sources are manifold; too many to count. And it stands to reason that not all – in fact, very few – of these sources are what we might call ‘pure’. Great art is not fresh water; it does not have to be caressed by a specific set of minerals, gently pushed through certain porous stones, collected in sharply defined glass bottles and set to rest on white dusted windowsills. It can instead burst from a centre of unalloyed grossness; rising like a gaseous rainbow-domed bubble to the surface of the most stench-ridden swamp. As the song goes (I forget which song exactly): “from an impure heart/pumps the blood of good art”.

But just you try telling this to the people of Ferrendale in Yorkshire. Read the rest of this entry »





Henry A Hunt – Well-Forgotten And Yet Overlooked

19 02 2012

[The following edited excerpt is taken from the ninty-fifth chapter of D H Laven’s historic work-in-progress ‘The Story of Forgotten Art’. In the introduction to this pioneering work he writes: ‘There is no such thing as forgotten art. There are only forgotten artists. And a hell of a lot of them too’. In this passage he looks at the secondary artistic produce of the twentieth century painter Henry Adolphus Hunt.]

Why don’t you write something about Augustus John? Such were the words that fell like weakling lambs from the mouth of an elderly lady following a lecture I gave on the life and work of Henrietta Goosen last year at the Paul Clark Institute of Arts. Why should I do that? Here was my strident response: delivered with reassuring insolence. The lady was under the misapprehension that John qualified as a ‘forgotten artist’. On the contrary, I told her, John is not the slightest bit forgotten. And – I added – even if he were, I doubt whether I’d give him a second look. I do not bring the dead to life simply for the fun of it. Their work has to have some worth. ‘As for that hairy gypsy’ I said, ‘I cannot imagine what it is that people ever saw in him’. To my surprise the old woman concurred, finding my description both ‘apt’ and ‘memorable’. It turned out that she had once studied this rather tedious period of British Art herself, whereupon she had also come to the conclusion that John’s painting never reached the aesthetic heights scaled by his facial hair. What is more, her knowledge in this area was also to reveal that I was not the first man to call Augustus John a ‘hairy gypsy’. In 1921 an artist called Henry Hunt did the same thing to John’s face, whilst ‘chilling out’ with fellow artists in the Café Royal in London. A fight is said to have broken out, during which Wyndham Lewis’s moustache was severely damaged, along with half a dozen cream cakes. Read the rest of this entry »





‘Leave Us Alone’ – The Remarkable Case of the Tombs at Khum Tash

19 02 2012

[The following excerpt is taken from the eleventh chapter of D H Laven’s monumental work-in-progress ‘The Story of Forgotten Art’. In the introduction to this pioneering work he writes: ‘There is no such thing as forgotten art. There are only forgotten artists. And a hell of a lot of them too’. In this passage he examines art that has not simply been forgotten, but strategically – if not unsurprisingly - ignored by a generation of superstitious academics...]

Artists are forgotten for an assortment of reasons. Though history can be unreliable, we must not ignore the fact that it often performs its task as it should: stalking the ranks of the dead like an impassive murderer, suffocating worthless aesthetics, lopping off the heads of untalented artists and hurling their wretched reputations into the black hole of forgetfulness. I do not doubt for a moment that some artists deserve to be forgotten; history must in these cases be thanked. Nevertheless, though I am by no means inclined to resuscitate corpses simply for the sake of it – I leave such vampiric behaviour to my fellow art historians – it must also be accepted that the system of history has flaws. Things that are forgotten do not always deserve to have been so. Read the rest of this entry »





‘Opening New Doors?: Art and the West Melbourne Community Sports Centre – by D H Laven

12 02 2012

[The following excerpt is taken from the seventy-eighth chapter of D H Laven’s much anticipated work-in-progress ‘The Story of Forgotten Art’. As Laven writes in his introduction: ‘There is no such thing as forgotten art. There are only forgotten artists. And a hell of a lot of them too’. In this extract, he looks at a series of artworks commissioned by the West Melbourne Community Sports Centre - once dubbed the 'Medicis of Melbourne' .]

Art history is a many-splendoured thing. Well indeed. But then so is cattle farming, for those in the know. And the problem with these many-splendoured things is that they have a habit of getting on top of one. Even those of most magnificent mind will admit to moments in which the self-made mountain of their research wears their enthusiasm wafer thin. For anything that invites obsession also demands the temporary cessation of one’s passion in the face of suffocation. Which is to say: even the best of us need a break every now and again.

It will not come as news to regular readers that I have for some time now been engaged on what might be termed a marathonesque project: my beloved Story of Forgotten Art, a humble attempt to condense all that has been unfairly removed from the history of world art into a single, albeit grossly fat book. Read the rest of this entry »





‘Worm Tensions’: The Forgotten Art of Eugene Matendre

25 01 2012

[The following excerpt is taken from the fourth chapter of D H Laven’s much anticipated work-in-progress ‘The Story of Forgotten Art’. As Laven writes in his introduction: ‘There is no such thing as forgotten art. There are only forgotten artists. And a hell of a lot of them too’. In this extract, he looks at the case of Eugene Matendré, a man once described as ‘if not the best, then at least the best-looking artist in France']

In June 1926, in the small village of Essanay outside the town of Montargis near the city of Paris, the body of a naked old man was dragged from a river. At the age of ninety four, Eugene Matendré had decided to drown himself. It wasn’t an easy decision, as his suicide note (well presented, with a firm sense of design) attests: Read the rest of this entry »





Cloven Conspiracy?: Sir Anthony Tosh and the Hereford Heresy

21 01 2012

[The following excerpt is taken from the twenty-fifth chapter of D H Laven’s historic work-in-progress 'The Story of Forgotten Art’. In the introduction to this pioneering work he writes: ‘There is no such thing as forgotten art. There are only forgotten artists. And a hell of a lot of them too’. In this passage he looks at the work of Sir Anthony Tosh, an eighteenth century cow painter.]

Many a word I have written on art that has been forgotten. Literally forgotten: thrown into a damp and dingy cellar, burnt on a fiery furnace, tossed into the whiffy wastepaper baskets of history, to the unutterably ghastly gutters of culture’s overcrowded highways and byways; to the edge of the canonical circle – and beyond. Many a word I have written on this type of art. Art which has been and gone – which is no more, is lost, is finished, is but a faint stain on the great carpet of memory.

But there are two ways of forgetting. There is never looking, and there is never looking properly. There is some art, therefore, which is both remembered and forgotten. Art that is in fact well-known, and yet not known at all. Art that hides behind itself; that can be seen and not seen, both at the same time. Such is the art created by the British eighteenth century painter Sir Anthony Tosh. Read the rest of this entry »





‘Lights Out’: The Unfortunate Art of Luis Recagis

21 01 2012

[The following excerpt is taken from the fourteenth chapter of D H Laven’s historic work-in-progress 'The Story of Forgotten Art’. In the introduction to this pioneering work he writes: ‘There is no such thing as forgotten art. There are only forgotten artists. And a hell of a lot of them too’. In this passage he looks at an unfortunate Spanish artist, whose great paintings quite literally never saw the light of day.]

Luck is no lady: it is the bastard child of the drooling she-monster and her incontinent husband; the festering cockroach under the cocktail cabinet; the hapless harbinger of despondency and doom. It may treat some people well, but many more are flung aside, like so many empty crisp packets hurtling along the dirty streets of modernity, pushed and pulled by the restless winds of change.

At the beginning of April in the year 1973, I was fortunate enough to find myself in New York, eager to witness the opening of an exhibition of work by the young Spanish painter Luis Reçagis. I had of course been aware of Reçagis for several years, but this was his first major exhibition – his so-called ‘breakthrough’. And I was just one amongst many who were extremely excited by the prospect. Previous work by Reçagis had promised much, but now – as an old lecturer of mine used to say (a little too often for his students’ liking) – ‘the time was as ripe as Aphrodite’s breasts’. Read the rest of this entry »








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