Richard Warren

20thc British art and poetry (mainly), plus bits of my own – "Clearly I tap to you clearly along the plumbing of the world" (W S Graham)

Monthly Archives: June 2014

Wolverhampton’s Barbara Hepworth – how safe is “safe keeping”?

rock formA mooch across Wolverhampton’s depressing and disintegrating city centre usually takes me through the Mander Centre shopping mall, where at least there’s a stately Barbara Hepworth bronze to cheer me up. Rock Form (Porthcurno), one of six castings made in 1964, has stood in the Centre since its opening. At first it sat on a low plinth, but was later made the focal point of a rather tacky water feature thing, hemmed in by tinkling fountains. When that was wisely removed the sculpture was given a clean and re-unveiled on a new plinth in 2003 by the late Anthea Mander and Dr Sophie Bowness, Hepworth scholar, trustee of the Hepworth Estate and the artist’s granddaughter. Inside the plinth was sealed a time capsule, containing items donated by Wolverhampton children. On one spot or another Rock Form has been at home in the Mander Centre for 46 years and in 2003 the intention was clearly that it should stay there for a lot longer. But not any more, perhaps. My most recent stroll revealed a ghostly rectangle on the floor below the escalators where the plinth had been. So what’s going on?

Mander Centre director Nicholas Pitt manages to mask out the sculpture while parading his artist's impressions for the Express & Star

Where’s the sculpture? Behind the artist’s impressions unveiled for the Express and Star, but not for much longer …

In 2010 the Mander Centre formed part of a portfolio of “distressed assets” bought by property firm Delancey, backed by a partnership loan from RBS, the British public’s favourite bankers. In late February this year the Centre management announced an ambitious revamp and extension to be completed in 2017, with a new Debenham’s signed up as an “anchor” attraction. In mid-May, surprisingly, Delancey announced that it would be offloading the Blade portfolio, the Mander Centre included. The revamp, apparently, will not be affected. Agents for the Centre’s sale are Cushman & Wakefield and the asking price is reported to be £50 million. In late March an application was made for planning permission for the first phase of the redevelopment, but no start date has yet been announced. In which case, why has the Hepworth been removed? “For safe keeping prior to development,” according to a Mander Centre spokesperson. This seems a tad premature, given that (a) there is no start in sight, (b) the projected first phase, the demolition of the Bell Street corner, is nowhere near the sculpture and (c) Centre management has promised that the site will stay open throughout the development. Perhaps significantly, the groovy artist’s impressions of the revamp show no sign of the Hepworth.

property week

Property Week: ‘more than a million’ …

Asked to elaborate on “safe keeping”, the Centre spokesperson declined. Asked about the fate of the children’s time capsule, she was silent. Invited to offer a denial that there was any intention to sell off the sculpture separately, she flatly refused, saying simply “The sculpture has been removed for safe keeping. We would not discuss anything else further.” Awkwardly phrased, but I get her drift. In their May report of the impending sale, Property Week estimated the value of the Hepworth at “more than £1m.”

Lots of shoppers, all young white, middle class and buying stuff. Can this be Wolverhampton?

The artist’s impressions of the revamp. Lots of shoppers, all young, white, smart and affluent. (Can this really be Wolverhampton?)

But no sculpture in sight ...

But no sculpture in sight …

Am I worrying too much? In 2004 Royal Mail removed a Hepworth that had stood for 40 years outside Chesterfield post office, for temporary exhibition elsewhere. Mysteriously, it failed to come back, but was later spotted at Bonham’s, sporting an estimate of £600,000. A public outcry eventually forced its return in 2009, at a cost of £500,000 (largely from the Art Fund), though Royal Mail had been pushing for a million. I assume that the Wolverhampton Hepworth is now owned by Delancey and that they can do what they like with it. But let’s put this into some context. Wolverhampton is not unblessed with sculpture of sorts in public places (not least roundabouts), but Rock Form is by far and away the finest and most important. Its selection for the Mander Centre in 1968 was a matter of some controversy at the time, the opposing lobby favouring something trad and figurative, but the Centre’s architect Stanley Sellers, who died last year, was a St Ives insider and a close friend of Hepworth, so Rock Form it was – a bold but entirely appropriate choice. The building went on to win a Civic Trust award, and the Hepworth must certainly have helped.

'Rock Form' in its original location

‘Rock Form’ in its original location

According to Chris Upton’s authoritative account of British shopping malls, the planning committee that granted outline approval in 1964 had been partly won over by the prospect that the Centre would be more than just shops; a ballroom, bowling alley and arts centre or cinema were also promised. In the event, all these community facilities evaporated, but the prestigious Hepworth served “to soften the blow”. According to Dave Smith’s recollection, Barbara Hepworth, interviewed on local telly at the unveiling, “stressed that in donating[??] the work to the town … she intended to enrich the cultural life of the place and to give Wulfrunians a rare opportunity to … experience a piece of living art.” Put like that, it might come over as a bit condescending, but we know what she meant. The intention was good. The Mander Brothers paint magnates owned and built half of Wolverhampton, and the Mander Centre was developed on the site of their original works. The Mander family pile at nearby Wightwick Manor is still stuffed with Pre-Raph and Arts & Crafts goodies, and is now operated by the National Trust. The choice of the Hepworth was entirely in keeping with the legacy of public access to good art that has long been associated with the Mander name. Whoever may own it, the Hepworth is an iconic local landmark and part of Wolverhampton’s heritage. Which makes the Mander Centre’s silence concerning its future particularly frustrating.

'Time is the most valuable thing anyone can spend.' Take note please, RBS.

‘Time is the most valuable thing anyone can spend.’ Take note please, RBS.

Sources Public Monuments and Sculpture Association entry for Rock Form (Porthcurno) Wolverhampton Express & Star 25 February 2014 Wolverhampton Express & Star 29 March 2014 Wolverhampton Express & Star 13 May 2014 Property Week 2 May 2014 Royal Mail and the Chesterfield Hepworth Chris Upton, Shopping Heaven and Hell Birmingham Museums Trust obituary for Stanley Sellers Dave Smith on Hepworth’s interview (start of Preface)

Still more lost British surrealists

A final dozen “lost” British surrealists, or quasi-surrealists, picked from an extended plod through the latter part of the alphabet on the BBC’s Your Paintings site. (Click for enlargements / slideshow. For the previous batches use the “surrealism” tab or go here and here.) Again, the qualifying period is the ‘thirties to ‘sixties, so none of that knowing ‘eighties pseudo-surrealism, which was essentially a post-modernist look promoted in art schools.


Edith Rimmington
has only one painting in public ownership, judging by the BBC site, and this is it. And barely half a dozen visible online, it seems. A great pity, given her considerable ability and her important role in the British surrealist movement. This one is not entirely typical, but it does exemplify the interestingly violent physicality of her images. Next, lest we forget, a nice item by Grace Pailthorpe, the other half of Reuben Mednikoff; I’ve featured Pailthorpe and Mednikoff in a previous post. And then an early piece by the always interesting Julian Trevelyan. Or interesting until the later years, perhaps; at this point Trevelyan was well in the surrealist mainstream, and very much into myth, mescaline and Mass Observation.


Next, some extended perspectives, with and without extended shadows. Who was John Pemberton? Scottish, apparently, born 1908, died 1960. More I can’t say at the moment. But Since the Bombardment is a cracker. Josefina de Vasconcellos was best known as a Cumbrian sculptor, but here, interestingly, stock surrealist elements are employed to carry Christian content. But why not? No date given, though the mushroom cloud on the horizon suggests the immediate post-war period. Last in this trio is a typical trompe l’oeil piece by Oscar Mellor, a stalwart of the Birmingham surrealist group, and often remembered as a publisher of poetry, though his painting career was long and productive. Curvy chicks with their vests off feature largely in his paintings, as Google Images will quickly reveal, but his pics are always something more than banal surrealist porn. Well, almost always.


More wartime angst from Fitzrovian painter and photographer Peter Rose Pulham, represented by this single image on the BBC site. The animal skull is a recurring motif in British neo-romanticism, and this is a powerful version, with an appropriately photographic quality. Pulham knew the Paris surrealist scene, but seems to have been a more marginal figure in the British context. Angst of a post-war nuclear variety from William McCance, here working in a surrealist vein, though better known for his paintings of the ‘twenties, when his portraits borrowed strongly from Wyndham Lewis, alongside landscapes of shiny cuboid constructions. The troubled architect and painter Ralph Maynard Smith (1904-64) seems to have been quite outside organised surrealism, but his work, somewhat akin to that of Paul Nash, is well worth attention, and his legacy is now promoted by the Trust that bears his name, which maintains a revealing website.


Frederick MacDonald is another mystery, with just this single canvas on the BBC site, painted around 1960. I like the surrealist atmosphere and the period feel of these scratchy mechanomorphs. Much better known is Gordon Onslow Ford, friend of Matta and surrealist insider, though his force-line automatism deserves higher billing.

To be fair, some of these names may be rather less “lost” than others. I’ve not bothered with Dorothea Tanning, John Tunnard or Edward Wadsworth as all too well known. I’ve also left out Conroy Maddox, whom in any case I consider (despite – or rather because of – his affected surrealist ultra-orthodoxy) a mere pasticheur. Nor am I fond enough of the squidgy doodles of Desmond Morris. Well, it’s my choice. But to finish the round dozen, here’s another Birmingham name that, admittedly, is not truly “lost” – John Melville, a number of whose paintings feature children bewildered by nature. Michel Remy describes The Museum of Natural History of the Child as “one of the key paintings of British surrealism”, though he doesn’t really explain why. On the BBC site the title of the painting is altered and the image is mirrored. I imagine that Melville, who made a very spooky drawing of Carroll’s Alice, would have enjoyed that.