Richard Warren

"Clearly I tap to you clearly along the plumbing of the world" (W S Graham)

The Mad Artist Gerald Wilde

Wilde sketching in 1954

Wilde sketching in 1954

In the chapter on Gerald Wilde in his Memoirs of the Forties, writer and poseur Julian Maclaren-Ross tells a fine story of the poetry impresario Tambimuttu making collections of money and food in the pubs and cafés of Fitzrovia “for Gerald Wilde the Mad Artist, he’s starving and with no money, you know?” Meanwhile the hapless Mad Artist is locked in Tambi’s flat with instructions to produce enough paintings for a show. Predictably, the money and the leftovers never reach Wilde. But then the paintings are never delivered either, Wilde – “by now presumably paint-stained and ravenous” – smashing his way out of Tambimuttu’s flat, taking with him the contents of the bookshelves to sell to buy food.

The arrival on the Warren doormat of a copy of Gerald Wilde 1905-1986, the October Gallery 1988 Wilde show booklet, provides a fresh acquaintance with the Mad Artist. David Sylvester’s introduction points out that at Wilde’s 1948 one man show at the prestigious Hanover Gallery not one work was bought. Likewise, a lithograph commissioned in 1956 sold, from an edition of 100, not a single copy. Beyond this slim booklet, there is no monograph on Wilde, nor has any museum ever curated a show of his work.

Piccadilly Circus 1946

Piccadilly Circus 1946

Sylvester observes that the 1948 sale did not include his best pieces, because “he had sold too many off as he went along, sold them off for next to nothing so as to get some money to buy drink or to give away to strangers in the pub or, literally, to burn, when he chose to demonstrate his independence by throwing the contents of his wallet on the fire.” Maclaren-Ross recalls that Wilde would “simply give [his paintings] to any bystander who showed appreciation, which he once said gave him a feeling of being liberated.” But Sylvester also notes that Wilde’s work, perhaps at its peak in the late ‘forties, was simply “too tough, too demanding, too far ahead of its time” to sell.

The Alarm 1947

The Alarm 1947

The plates reveal that Wilde’s lithographs of the late ‘twenties were technically accomplished and quirkily observational. But by the ‘forties he had evolved the slack but scrunchy abstract expressionism (idiosyncratic and entirely un-American) for which he is best known, the later work becoming flatter, more cartoony, more Jungian. Frank Auerbach is maybe a point of contact, but only obliquely. Perhaps also Alan Davie, at least the earlier, messier stuff. Spiritually, Wilde was closest perhaps to the spontaneism of the CoBrA group – certainly a better fit than William Gear, the official CoBrA Brit, whose tasteful abstractions have always seemed a bit contrived to me.

The Tomb 1948

The Tomb 1948

An appreciation by William Feaver sees “no indication of artistic ambition” as “one of the strengths of Wilde’s work,” which “conforms to no professional demands or guidelines,” and “evade[s] expectation.” This uncompromising stand is very Gulley Jimson, though it’s generally recognised that Wilde could not have been the model for the reprobate painter of Joyce Cary’s 1944 novel The Horse’s Mouth, given that Cary only met Wilde five years later. But meanwhile in Jimson Wilde had recognised himself.

The booklet contains several photos of Wilde, and one sees that Alec Guinness’s Jimson, in the film of the novel, while no impersonation, was maybe a relation. In some photos Wilde appears happy, but in others his eyes have the thousand yard stare of a man who has just woken to find himself, as he put it, living in purgatory.

Which is a little unnerving, given that he had lost the use of his left eye in a childhood accident. These paintings were made by a partially sighted artist. And in fact many of them do seem to snap into view when stared at with one eye closed. The monoscopic reduction in sharpness washes out the harsh edges of some of the looser strokes, melding splatches of paint into a continuous entity, and allowing the brain to process, interpret and inhabit the image more comfortably.

wildeComing to terms with a Wilde is always challenging. But hardly as challenging as it was for him to make it, we feel. Some works, particularly quick pastel or charcoal drawings, seem tentative or throwaway. The more substantial pieces seem sometimes to have been wrestled onto the surface, lines and shapes whacked around until something with conviction, but still quite alien, starts to appear. Though the images may be in that sense resolved, they are not reconciled to us; there remains a “wrongness” that, as in the best “Outsider” art, takes us to somewhere beyond, a wrongness that is ultimately right.

Writing in 1955, John Berger saw the heavy black lines of Wilde’s paintings as a grate, or as the bars of a zoo cage: “… he paints the gates (again the iron bars) on the very perimeter of the Conscious, beyond which is all the raw material which, when it is brought inside, is fashioned into our ideas of heaven and hell.” Maclaren-Ross also saw the cage: “Perhaps it was the vision of his own interior chaos that was struggling to break through the cryptic coloured patterns that enclosed it, as he had broken out of Tambi’s flat.”


5 responses to “The Mad Artist Gerald Wilde

  1. Roger Allen December 18, 2012 at 10:34 pm

    In the chapter on Gerald Wilde in his Memoirs of the Forties, writer and poseur Julian Maclaren-Ross tells a fine story of the poetry impresario Tambimuttu making collections of money and food in the pubs and cafés of Fitzrovia “for Gerald Wilde the Mad Artist, he’s starving and with no money, you know?”

    An almost identical story is told of the Georgian-Armenian primitive painter Pirosmani, who died in 1918, including being locked up to produce paintings and forgotten, so it may be even less reliable than Maclaren-Ross’s other reminiscences

  2. Richard Garbut January 25, 2013 at 10:48 pm

    In Tambimuttu’s Poetry London X – December 1944, Wilde’s Lithographs to T.S. Eliot’s ‘Rhapsody on a Windy Night’ are featured – in full and glorious colour. Three images, 1 of them a double page spread. A different Wilde lithograph – Lyre Bird – also graces the cover. 75 of these sets of lithos were available for 10/6 from the publishers. Tambimuttu obviously thought highly of him as he shares this issue, visually, with Mervyn Peake. By strange co-incidence my copy of this book has ownership signature of – Edwin G. Lucas. What a wonderful enclosed world you live in! Like the blog very much. Thanks.

    • richardawarren January 26, 2013 at 11:00 am

      Excellent! I love it when a coincidence manifests. And it seems entirely fitting that Lucas should have seen Wilde’s work. Thanks!

    • lucasalan December 5, 2013 at 9:48 pm

      Richard G – amazed to hear you’ve got my father’s old copy of this book! I’ve now ordered my own copy to have a close look at what he was reading. Can you tell me when and where you acquired it? (just in the off chance I can trace any more of the books he was reading in the 1940s)

  3. Pingback: Artist Textiles @ FTM 1/2 - Sinbad and Sailor

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