Julian Bell

The man​ on the canvas stands five foot four, in other words nearly life size. You stand no further away from him, to judge from the angle at which you view the dog at his feet. The two as it were confront you. You can almost smell him, this weathered blind beggar. You can almost hear him: his hollering, his hurdy-gurdy’s abrasive dense drone. And you are watched – but...

The statistics​ on Stateway Gardens were grim. In 1989, average per capita annual income in the 1648 apartments was $1650, making it the poorest neighbourhood in the United States. Figures for murder and drug crime were also high. The Chicago Housing Authority had erected the eight high-rises in the late 1950s to replace the South Side slums that African Americans arriving in the city had...

‘Technically I didn’t throw the baby out with the bath water as it wasn’t in the bath at the time’ (2020) by Ray Ward

The verb​ ‘to draw’ refers to an act of pulling. Apply it to mark making, and two such acts come into view. A hand pulls a marker across a surface. Human intention, on some level or other, is involved. But the vessels of that intention...

‘Self-Portrait with Portrait of Émile Bernard (Les Misérables)’ (1888)

Broad shoulders​ retreating down a gangplank: my mind’s eye rests there, after reading two new books about Paul Gauguin. The gait is springy: this passenger pushes away from the others; he strides off. The ground on which he alights is Peruvian, then French, Danish, Panamanian,...

Whatever​ the Laughing Cavalier is so pleased about, I’ve no wish to know. That bumptious bar-room menace from the Wallace Collection has me taking to my heels. I gravitate instead towards a black-hatted roué from the Fitzwilliam, more at ease with his slouch and sad wry smile. Elsewhere in the National Gallery’s Frans Hals exhibition (until 21 January), a debonair...