Hockney’s Pictures by David Hockney (Thames & Hudson £19.95) isn’t quite for me, either. A trawl through the eye-candy he has been producing now for almost 50 years also includes his own brief, no-nonsense comments. The 325 illustrations, most of them full-page and full-colour, make the book a bargain, but its appeal probably extends only to those who have never heard of Hockney. And how many Martians buy art books?
At least there’s no doubt about the heaviest monograph now available. William Scott (Thames & Hudson £40) is 500 pages long,some 2ins thick, and has 400 plates in colour, 100 more in black-and-white, and an expansive, well-written text by the indefatigable Norbert Lynton. Does Scott (1913-89), far more highly rated half a century ago than he is now, remotely justify this lavish attention? Lynton does, in fact, persuade me that the current neglect is unjust. There is much more to Scott than near abstract compositions of pots and pans simplified to within an inch of their (still) lives — as the gorgeous reproductions testify.
Still in search of something to recommend to everyone, I notice an especially likely title: In the Gardens of Impressionism by Clare A P Willsdon (Thames & Hudson £29.95). Don’t be misled, though. There are, admittedly, lots of lovely pictures, but the text is serious and informative. John House’s Impressionism: Paint and Politics (Yale £35) is even more scholarly and argumentative in its examination of the sheer complexity of the style, much loved and perennially popular.
For many, the appeal of landscape paintings lies elsewhere. They prefer to contemplate a view of nature as they would the prospect of a relaxing bath. Art historians feel the need to complicate even the straightforward, however, reading a landscape as carefully as they might a detective story. Most often the search for clues is justified — as in the shadowy and mysterious compositions by Caspar David Friedrich (1774-1840). The deep spiritual significance of his moving pictures is the main concern of Friedrich by William Vaughan (Phaidon £12.95), a blend of illuminating text and small but excellent illustrations. The meaning of Egon Schiele’s landscapes, less familiar than his neurotically erotic nudes, is discussed in Between Ruin and Renewal: Egon Schiele’s Landscapes by Kimberly A Smith (Yale £37.50). These paintings are unarguably expressions of the artist’s haunted imagination, though Smith claims to identify other, more cerebral and especially political kinds of significance.
There’s an essay about Schiele in Hang-ups by Simon Schama (BBC £30), an anthology of previously published articles about art. It’s entertaining enough, though nothing like as impressive as the star historian’s longer books. He doesn’t tell me anything new about Schiele or indeed Hockney, and his ingratiatingly blokeish journalese irritates — even after his editor had “cleaned up” his “adjectival excesses”. Next time more bleach, please.
Schiele is often described by critics as an expressionist, though to compare his work with that of Kandinsky, say, is to realise how misleading the label is. The large and well-captioned picture section in Surrealism, edited by Mary Ann Cawes (Phaidon £45), shows how various the art produced by the movement was, from Dali’s sharp, mesmeric figuration to Miro’s strange constellations of images. The “Pope” of surrealism was André Breton. He decided who belonged to the club, and in 1939 excommunicated Salvador Dali (or Avida Dollars, as Breton anagrammatically dubbed him) because Dali was flirting with the fascists and also doing his unforgivable best to become super-rich. One hundred years after his birth, many serious critics dismiss Dali as shallow and showy, which is, I guess, how they’re greeting the big exhibition now on in Venice, though the crowds will be streaming in. Dali: The Centenary Retrospective by Dawn Ades (Thames & Hudson £45) is the superb catalogue of that show, packed with eye-popping illustrations and new information about the supreme self-publicist.
Once, everyone commonly thought about modern art in terms of a succession of “isms”. But “isms” have long since become “wasms”, no longer capable of explaining the rapidly changing ideas and intentions of 20th-century art. Stephen Little’s Isms: Understanding Art (A & C Black £9.99) is, therefore, deeply unfashionable. It also stretches a point since he begins with the Renaissance, and sustains several injuries by straining to find “isms” everwhere. Ghastly neologisms result, perspectivisim and allegoricism among them. Intended for a similar audience of uninformed art lovers, Patrick de Rynck’s How to Read a Painting: Decoding, Understanding and Enjoying Old Masters (Thames & Hudson £24.95) is a more substantial aid. Using a number of individual masterpieces from Duccio to Goya, it tells you what the subject and symbols of each painting mean. It therefore helps you recognise St Sebastian, St John the Baptist, and so on. It will also tell you that the slippers and brush on the floor of Vermeer’s The Love Letter may stand for the vagina and phallus respectively. No comment.
That book is obviously meant to be dipped into. But what about presents for art lovers who like a long, continuous read? They’re well served this year, beginning with Leonardo da Vinci: The Flights of the Mind by Charles Nicholl (Allen Lane £25), an impressive biography. Paul O’Keefe’s biography of the Frenchman who redirected the course of English sculpture, Gaudier-Brzeska: An Absolute Case of Genius (Allen Lane £29), is also gripping. So is Gijs van Hensbergen’s “biography of a 20th century icon”, Picasso’s Guernica (Bloomsbury £20). The best read of all, though, is William Nicholson by Stanford Schwartz (Yale £35), which does more than bring this fascinating, clubbable dandy to life. It also presents him as a really fine painter, for too long obscured by the shadow of his son, Ben. The father’s obvious delight in the sheer quality of paint is so much preferable to what Schwartz fairly describes as Ben’s “finicky and undernourished” manner.
There’s nothing finicky or undernourished about my final, wholehearted recommendation. This attractive book’s nostalgic appeal is entirely seasonal. The Comics before 1945 by Brian Walker (Abrams £29.95) is a terrific anthology of the strip-cartoonist’s art at its best and in its heyday. Many of the large illustrations are in exquisite colour, and reproduced from the original drawings. If you’re lucky enough to be given this for Christmas, don’t worry about the television or central heating breaking down. You won’t notice a thing.
Available at Books First prices plus p&p on 0870 165 8585
TOP FIVE
DALI: The Centenary Retrospective
by Dawn Ades
Thames & Hudson £45
Superb catalogue of the Venice exhibition
THE COMICS BEFORE 1945
by Brian Walker
Abrams £29.95
Beautifully illustrated anthology: the strip cartoonist’s art at its best
WILLIAM NICHOLSON
by Stanford Schwartz
Yale £35
A terrific read which presents this clubbable dandy as a really fine painter
WILLIAM SCOTT
by Norbert Lynton
Thames & Hudson £40
Comprehensive monograph convincingly makes the case for this neglected artist
IN THE GARDENS OF IMPRESSIONISM
by Clare A P Willsdon
Thames & Hudson £29.95
Serious and informative text, with fine reproductions
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