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Lot Essay
Although the title of this painting might suggest a straightforward flower-piece, David Bomberg gives Cornflowers and Delphiniums an eruptive impact. The petals and leaves burst outwards and upwards with such vigour that they threaten to break the vase containing them. Moreover, Bomberg places them against a red ground, which saturates the canvas with an almost inflammatory force.
The blazing vitality of this painting becomes even more remarkable when we realise that it was executed in 1946. For Bomberg and his wife Lilian, whom he married in 1941, the Second World War had been an intensely gruelling experience. Apart from enduring life in London during the traumatic years of the Blitz, they also suffered perpetual anxiety about economic survival. Bomberg had great difficulty not only in selling his work but also in finding employment. The War Artists Committee rejected his request to paint a large Memorial Panel inspired by visiting an underground bomb store. Part-time teaching posts sapped his energy, and he even taught drawing to gun crews in Hyde Park.
Then, hoping to restore his spirits, Lilian purchased some flowers from a lady outside Gloucester Road tube station. She brought them home to Queens Gate Mews, arranged them in a vase and, after a few days, suggested that Bomberg might paint them. Reluctant at first, he suddenly decided to immerse himself in the task. The flowers fascinated him so much that he made an impetuous series of images. And when two of them were included in an exhibition, one astonished critic wrote that 'these are veritable explosions in oil colours', describing how one of them 'goes off with an almost audible bang.'
By the time Bomberg executed Cornflowers and Delphiniums, the relentless bombing of London had come to an end. But its legacy can be felt in this indomitable painting, where the flaring colours and urgent brushmarks re-enact the conflagration of war even as they celebrate the stubborn, sensuous survival of nature at its most exuberant.
R.C.
The blazing vitality of this painting becomes even more remarkable when we realise that it was executed in 1946. For Bomberg and his wife Lilian, whom he married in 1941, the Second World War had been an intensely gruelling experience. Apart from enduring life in London during the traumatic years of the Blitz, they also suffered perpetual anxiety about economic survival. Bomberg had great difficulty not only in selling his work but also in finding employment. The War Artists Committee rejected his request to paint a large Memorial Panel inspired by visiting an underground bomb store. Part-time teaching posts sapped his energy, and he even taught drawing to gun crews in Hyde Park.
Then, hoping to restore his spirits, Lilian purchased some flowers from a lady outside Gloucester Road tube station. She brought them home to Queens Gate Mews, arranged them in a vase and, after a few days, suggested that Bomberg might paint them. Reluctant at first, he suddenly decided to immerse himself in the task. The flowers fascinated him so much that he made an impetuous series of images. And when two of them were included in an exhibition, one astonished critic wrote that 'these are veritable explosions in oil colours', describing how one of them 'goes off with an almost audible bang.'
By the time Bomberg executed Cornflowers and Delphiniums, the relentless bombing of London had come to an end. But its legacy can be felt in this indomitable painting, where the flaring colours and urgent brushmarks re-enact the conflagration of war even as they celebrate the stubborn, sensuous survival of nature at its most exuberant.
R.C.