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拍品专文
‘At the heart of his approach, and this holds true for everything that he has made since, there is a dynamic aesthetic tension. On the one hand there is the impulse of the work to self-sufficient sculptural form, which might emerge variously as now more abstract, now more figurative; on the other an evocative allusiveness, a tendency to poetic reference to physiological and psychological human actualities, and by implication to matters emotional, sexual, political or spiritual. The mood may be changeable, by turns ironic, celebratory, portentous, comic or violent, or multivalently any of these at once’ (M. Gooding, exhibition catalogue, F.E. McWilliam Sculpture 1932-1989, London, Tate Gallery, 1989, p. 35).
F.E. McWilliam has become regarded as one of the most individual and experimental sculptors of his generation, continually playing with material, form, scale and subject matter to illustrate his ideas. Bound by no ‘ism’ or enslaved by any artistic movement or theory, of which there were a cacophony in the 1920s and 30s, when he emerged as an artist, McWilliam chose to work independently, inspired instead by a new material, an interest in a different sort of shape, or a result of his travels. McWilliam himself stated: ‘I have never set any store by consistency – life is too short for restrictive practices’ (McWilliam, quoted in M. Gooding, exhibition catalogue, F.E. McWilliam Sculpture 1932-1989, London, Tate Gallery, 1989, p. 9). Mel Gooding explains, ‘His approach to all things is marked by a spirited independence of judgment, tempered by a humane irony, and lightened by a highly developed sense of the absurd … Above all he has refused to maintain any fidelity to the notion of stylistic consistency, obeying without compunction an inner compulsion to try something different, explore new ground, to change direction and medium without regard to art world fashion or critical response’ (ibid., p. 10).
As a result of McWilliam's explorative nature, his work seems to change dramatically every few years, with the artist experimenting with a variety of materials from carved wood to limestone, cast stone, concrete, fibre glass, terracotta, clay, plaster, mosaic, bronze and wax. Although arguably his most beautiful pieces are those done in cherrywood that he sourced from his garden, in the early 1930s, of which Woodhenge, 1937, is one of the finest examples.
Delineating two organic forms, which majestically rise out of the ground, one with a central aperture, the other with an ovoid form, which rests poetically on top of the body of the right form, McWilliam creates a wonderfully dynamic, yet perfectly balanced and harmonious work, which eludes not only to the figurative but speaks also of the spiritual, with reference to its totemic form. The rich, reddy hue and smooth surface of the cherrywood, adding to its sense of majesty, while also granting a great tactility to the piece.
In the 1930s there was an emphasis on carving, with Roger Fry and the modern sculptors of the day, such as Barbara Hepworth, promoting the popular doctrine ‘truth to materials’. This called for sculpture, and in particular carving, to conform to the natural qualities of the material, whether it be stone or wood, which had its own inherent principles of form and structure. McWilliam was sceptical of this ethos, however, stating, ‘In the thirties this was the accepted slogan … but really it was a bit of nonsense … a useful phrase to explain why sculpture didn’t have to be realistic’ (ibid., p. 10). McWilliam instead utilised his materials, in this case cherrywood, to his own experimental and playful means, relishing in the acts of distortion and illusion, and the juxtaposition of balance and attenuation, as seen to striking effect in the present work.
Indeed, although never aligned to the Surrealist movement, one can see an element of the Surreal in his work, in particular his carvings of the 1930s, as illustrated in Woodhenge. In the early 1930s McWilliam moved to Paris, in the hope of becoming a French citizen, keen to place himself at the heart of the avant-garde art world. Although this trip was short-lived and he was forced back to England in 1932 due to the Depression, McWilliam is known to have to have admired the work of Brancusi, Picasso and Arp, whose Torsos of the early thirties share similar biomorphic abstract qualities with his works of the period, such as Figure, 1937. While his close friends Henry Moore and Ceri Richards, were also experimenting with surreal imagery during this time.
During the late twenties and thirties Surrealism had stressed ‘the archetypal resonance of primitive imagery, and recognised the psychic power of fetish objects’ (ibid., p. 35). This interest in the primitive and archaic had appealed to McWilliam and he had spent much of his time in Paris at the Musée Ethnographique du Trocadero, where he examined the African sculptures for hours on end. Inspired by the early work of Jacob Epstein, and encouraged by friend Henry Moore’s frequent trips to the British Museum and his study of other cultures, McWilliam turned to a primitive aesthetic in the 1930s, enjoying the freedom that it granted. This influence can be seen in Woodhenge, which appears totemic and speaks of some ancient idol, as well as earlier examples such as Mother and Child, 1932-33, and African Figure, 1933 (sold in these Rooms, 25 June 2014, lot 34, for a world record price of £266,500). McWilliam was keen to escape the traditional canons of art that he found stifling and enjoyed the abolition of surface trimmings in favour of a common world language of form, which spoke of an ancient mystery and power. Indeed, McWilliam recognised the potency of mystery in art, as is expressed in Woodhenge: ‘Mystery is terribly important, in art as it is in religion. I mean if you take mystery out of religion, you’re only left with morality, and if you take the mystery out of art, you’re only left with design or illustration. But what mystery is … is another matter’ (McWilliam, quoted in ibid., p. 14).
F.E. McWilliam has become regarded as one of the most individual and experimental sculptors of his generation, continually playing with material, form, scale and subject matter to illustrate his ideas. Bound by no ‘ism’ or enslaved by any artistic movement or theory, of which there were a cacophony in the 1920s and 30s, when he emerged as an artist, McWilliam chose to work independently, inspired instead by a new material, an interest in a different sort of shape, or a result of his travels. McWilliam himself stated: ‘I have never set any store by consistency – life is too short for restrictive practices’ (McWilliam, quoted in M. Gooding, exhibition catalogue, F.E. McWilliam Sculpture 1932-1989, London, Tate Gallery, 1989, p. 9). Mel Gooding explains, ‘His approach to all things is marked by a spirited independence of judgment, tempered by a humane irony, and lightened by a highly developed sense of the absurd … Above all he has refused to maintain any fidelity to the notion of stylistic consistency, obeying without compunction an inner compulsion to try something different, explore new ground, to change direction and medium without regard to art world fashion or critical response’ (ibid., p. 10).
As a result of McWilliam's explorative nature, his work seems to change dramatically every few years, with the artist experimenting with a variety of materials from carved wood to limestone, cast stone, concrete, fibre glass, terracotta, clay, plaster, mosaic, bronze and wax. Although arguably his most beautiful pieces are those done in cherrywood that he sourced from his garden, in the early 1930s, of which Woodhenge, 1937, is one of the finest examples.
Delineating two organic forms, which majestically rise out of the ground, one with a central aperture, the other with an ovoid form, which rests poetically on top of the body of the right form, McWilliam creates a wonderfully dynamic, yet perfectly balanced and harmonious work, which eludes not only to the figurative but speaks also of the spiritual, with reference to its totemic form. The rich, reddy hue and smooth surface of the cherrywood, adding to its sense of majesty, while also granting a great tactility to the piece.
In the 1930s there was an emphasis on carving, with Roger Fry and the modern sculptors of the day, such as Barbara Hepworth, promoting the popular doctrine ‘truth to materials’. This called for sculpture, and in particular carving, to conform to the natural qualities of the material, whether it be stone or wood, which had its own inherent principles of form and structure. McWilliam was sceptical of this ethos, however, stating, ‘In the thirties this was the accepted slogan … but really it was a bit of nonsense … a useful phrase to explain why sculpture didn’t have to be realistic’ (ibid., p. 10). McWilliam instead utilised his materials, in this case cherrywood, to his own experimental and playful means, relishing in the acts of distortion and illusion, and the juxtaposition of balance and attenuation, as seen to striking effect in the present work.
Indeed, although never aligned to the Surrealist movement, one can see an element of the Surreal in his work, in particular his carvings of the 1930s, as illustrated in Woodhenge. In the early 1930s McWilliam moved to Paris, in the hope of becoming a French citizen, keen to place himself at the heart of the avant-garde art world. Although this trip was short-lived and he was forced back to England in 1932 due to the Depression, McWilliam is known to have to have admired the work of Brancusi, Picasso and Arp, whose Torsos of the early thirties share similar biomorphic abstract qualities with his works of the period, such as Figure, 1937. While his close friends Henry Moore and Ceri Richards, were also experimenting with surreal imagery during this time.
During the late twenties and thirties Surrealism had stressed ‘the archetypal resonance of primitive imagery, and recognised the psychic power of fetish objects’ (ibid., p. 35). This interest in the primitive and archaic had appealed to McWilliam and he had spent much of his time in Paris at the Musée Ethnographique du Trocadero, where he examined the African sculptures for hours on end. Inspired by the early work of Jacob Epstein, and encouraged by friend Henry Moore’s frequent trips to the British Museum and his study of other cultures, McWilliam turned to a primitive aesthetic in the 1930s, enjoying the freedom that it granted. This influence can be seen in Woodhenge, which appears totemic and speaks of some ancient idol, as well as earlier examples such as Mother and Child, 1932-33, and African Figure, 1933 (sold in these Rooms, 25 June 2014, lot 34, for a world record price of £266,500). McWilliam was keen to escape the traditional canons of art that he found stifling and enjoyed the abolition of surface trimmings in favour of a common world language of form, which spoke of an ancient mystery and power. Indeed, McWilliam recognised the potency of mystery in art, as is expressed in Woodhenge: ‘Mystery is terribly important, in art as it is in religion. I mean if you take mystery out of religion, you’re only left with morality, and if you take the mystery out of art, you’re only left with design or illustration. But what mystery is … is another matter’ (McWilliam, quoted in ibid., p. 14).