Why, in other words, do the works of specific artists bear particular significance for us? I’ve often pondered this question, for example in relation to the continuing appeal to me of the work of Stanley Spencer or Paul Nash. I don’t have in mind here the kinds of flash of connection that might lead us to buy a specific painting. In that case I’m sure it is the special connection that is registered in an instant, binding oneself to the work in question. This is the experience of suddenly realising that “I’ve got to have that picture”. I’m wondering on this occasion why it might be that the work of an artist, taken as a whole, might go on registering in the mind and the memory as worth not only attending to but treasuring.
I’ve been pondering this question recently, and especially since going to the cinema the other day to see the new film about the work of Eric Ravilious, Drawn to War. As I’ve been reflecting on this attachment it has emerged that not all of his work carries that special sense of attachment for me. Despite my persisting interest in Stanley Spencer, and indeed despite my own engagement with the experience of the Great War in Italy, it is not Ravilious’ war art that I find particularly compelling. As I leafed through James Russell’s book about Ravilious earlier this evening, it became clear that (perhaps among other things) one group of his works have acquitted a special significance for me. These are not his landscapes but his interior studies. They really have the capacity to trigger memories from me of my own childhood. What I have in mind are pieces such as Interior at Furlongs, or A Farmhouse Bedroom. I have come to realise, quite suddenly, that these stimulate memories of my own childhood in rural Norfolk. While my father was away in the RAF during the Second World War, and afterwards when he spent two years in college following demobilisation, we lived in a small cottage between Norwich and Cromer. The conditions were, by contemporary standards, primitive, with no electricity and no internal sanitation. Our furnishing was most basic, with only rag rugs on the floor. Despite the poverty of these surroundings my memories of those days are generally happy ones.* Ravilious has captured in this group of interior studies the essence of my childhood home.
Although it is the case that in general terms Eric Ravilious’ war art carries no special appeal for me, there is one exception, and that is his Runway Perspective (1942). This view along a runway features a Spitfire fighter taking off over the head of the viewer. After the war my brother and I would roam the countryside. Not far from our cottage was the St. Faith’s RAF base, and one of our favourite experiences was to lie in the grass at the end of there runway and watch the planes take off above our heads. This was certainly dangerous and I’m sure that my mother would have been deeply alarmed had she known what we were up to. Ravilious has captured this moment of experience.
I would not wish to overdraw this point, but I’m sure that does have general significance. Apart from anything else, does my engagement with Degas have its roots inn my experience ion washing in a tin bath in front of the fire? I wonder!
*Although I came to realise that, for my mother, this was hardly the case!