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Let it come down
By Nicholas Laughlin
First published in Caribbean
Beat, November/December 2012
On a wall near my desk hangs a three-sheet
“Map of the Seacoast of Guyana”, depicting the strip of land along the
Atlantic Ocean where most of Guyana’s population dwells. In a sense, it
is really a map of waters — more accurately, of the flow of water. Much
of the Guyanese coast lies below sea level. It is a man-made landscape,
drained by engineers over centuries, through a vast and intricate
network of sea walls, dams, trenches, and kokers — a Dutch-derived name
for sluice gates. This complex hydrological system is charted in thin
blue lines across the map’s surface, densely intersecting with the
greys and browns of towns, villages, and roads.
I thought of this map as I stood not long ago in a gallery at Tate
Britain in London. I’d come to see Drop,
Roll, Slide, Drip, a small exhibition of “poured paintings” by
the Guyanese-British artist Frank Bowling, curated by the American art
historian Courtney J. Martin. (The show opened in April 2012, and runs
until 30 April, 2013.) Born in Bartica in 1936, Bowling left British
Guiana when he was fifteen, and was educated at the Chelsea School of
Art and the Royal College of Art, where his classmates included David
Hockney and R.B. Kitaj. In 1967, frustrated by the British art scene
and its narrow expectations for a black or Caribbean artist, Bowling
moved to New York. There his earlier figurative painting shifted
towards abstraction — in part thanks to exposure to the American
Abstract Expressionists, but also because, as he put it in a recent
interview, abstraction “isn’t hidebound by colour or race.”
Bowling began making his poured works in 1973, experimenting with
techniques for deploying paint across a surface. Eventually he designed
and built a special tilting platform that allowed him to pour acrylic
paint onto his canvases from six feet above. Sometimes he used tape on
the canvas to channel the flow of the paint. The colours swirl and
mingle as they move down the canvas, until they pool at the bottom edge.
The Tate show, installed in a “focus gallery,” collects twelve of these
paintings, and includes a short video interview with the artist. “I
wanted to be the best artist with using colour, line, whatever,” he
says. “The paintings should be their own thing” — that is, inspired
exercises in painting itself, not thematic or autobiographical
statements. And looked at as examples of pure abstraction, they are
beguiling works, enticingly tactile: the kind of paintings you must
resist the urge to touch.
But gazing into these eddies and cascades of paint, my mind went back
to that seacoast chart. I remembered also Bowling’s celebrated map
paintings — semi-abstractions in which the shapes of Guyana, South
America, or Africa float in fields of colour — which he began making
not long before the poured works. And I wondered if the Drop, Roll, Slide, Drip paintings
could not also be looked at as maps — perhaps of an imagination shaped
by childhood in a landscape where livelihood and indeed life itself
depend on controlling liquid flow.
In the flat expanses of coastal Guyana, the pattern of drainage is an
immense diagram of human willpower’s negotiations with nature. In a
perhaps not dissimilar way, Bowling’s poured paintings are charts of
movement and resistance, of the artist’s own negotiations with his
medium’s physical limits, with the facts of gravity, viscosity, and
friction. +